The ramblings of a poorly functioning sociopath and stuff
The Team Fortress Classic Engineer is canonically TF2 Engineer’s father (established in the Engineer Update). He really let himself go.
I, Zepheniah Mann, being of sound mind, do hereby vow to haunt the earth as a horrifying poltergeist, until such time as I have quenched my all-consuming thirst for vengeance against the world, and especially against my dunderhead sons.
If it takes a brave man to admit he is in error, then surely a man willing to admit both of his sons are stumble-bum muttonheads is twice as brave. It was they who convinced me to spend the entirety of my sizeable fortune purchasing land in the unclaimed frontier of the Americas, in the hope of expanding our weapons concern to the uncolonized westernmost regions. Many tales did they whisper in my too credulous ears, of gravel as far as the eye can see, for any man with strong back and iron spirit to harness. Long did I dream of transforming these virgin lands, and its vast holes, into the world's most majestic and profitable pits of gravel. But when at last we arrived, we found only "fool's gravel" - my nitwit sons had purchased a continent-sized parcel of sand! It is here in this wind-swept desert hell that I fear I shall breathe my last.
Since moving from my Cambridgeshire estate to the untamed frontier I have contracted putrid fever, bilious fever, blackwater fever, green fever, spotted fever - even womb fever, as a complication from a serious bout of superfluous uterus. On our sailing trip to the new world I contracted white plague, marasmus, sweating sickness, deplumatious tumors of the eyelids, pleurisy, membranous croup and scarlet rash; during the drive west I contracted brain itch, stomatitus, and blood poisoning; since settling our estate I have contracted falling sickness, walking sickness, stationary sickness, shingles, jaundiced spine and skull bloat. I contracted scrivener's palsy in the writing of this last will & testament. Possessing no paper in this godforsaken frontier, I have penned this on my own skin, which has sloughed off in quantity since contracting impetigo.
To the foul-smelling, uneducated simpletons of the untamed Americas, I leave only this curse - as weapons have caused my downfall, so will I engineer the downfall of any soul who puts one to use near my restless grave. Shoot over my bones, and I shall visit upon you a haunting the likes of which you have never seen.
To my dearest maidservant Elizabeth I leave the rest and residue of my estate - including all deeds, accounts, debts public and private - my tobacco plantation - and what remains of the fortune my addle-pated sons have squandered. Find the gravel that I was unable to find! Honor me by placing it inside a pit!
To my faithful aide and tracker, Barnabas Hale of the savage Australias, I divest compleat control of the Mann & Sons Munitions Concern. You procured the poppy flowers required for the medicines that gave me succor from the pains of my many warring ailments. It has been pleasant to not shriek myself to sleep.
To my layabout, brain defective sons, Blutarch and Redmond, I leave the greatest curse of all - partnership. What land I have purchased in this new world is to be split evenly between you both. You have wasted your lives bickering over nothing, and so I leave you dimwits something of consequence over which to feud.
Lastly, to most trusted Elizabeth I leave the entirety of my "miracle" gravel cache, uncovered with Barnabas during a trip to Terra Australis. My weakling son Gray resurfaced last year and has threatened to blackmail me for it. I give the gravel to you and swear you to utmost secrecy in its keeping.
God and His angels will have to drag me screaming to Heaven. I do not want to die! Damn you all to Hell!