Scout with hints of PTSD? It seems like relationship drama won't be the only interesting resolution we can look forward to after the battle ends.

I also like these little tidbits that Sniper had gone through something Really Bad before RED. All we know is that he had been captured in a jungle somewhere and beaten or possibly tortured.

I know he wasn't in the most recent update, but golly, I really love your Demoman. He's fantastic.

Yeah, I wanted hint at PTSD without turning anyone into a total woobie. I just can't imagine that captivity and torture is a regular thing for the RED and BLU mercenaries (unless you're decapitated under unfortunate circumstances). They'll be kicking back for a week in the tropics when this mission is over, and Scout's going to need it.

>>164 There can never be too much love for Demoman. Speaking of which, update time!

___________________________

The main road leading into the compound looked like a warzone, and the REDs hadn't even set foot on it yet. Several oversized sentries lay in ruins, punctuating the route to the manor. From their position in the mouth of the alley, Engineer was peering down the road at their objective—the manor's front door. He spoke quietly to his teammates. “Now, the map of this compound ain't very detailed, but it seems to be up to date. That locked door I tried crackin' was the entrance to a RED Company facility- it had a modern keypad lock and everything. I'm assumin' the men we ran afoul of are usin' it as their base.”

Demoman frowned, scratching his stubbly chin. The desire to spill what he'd learned from Jane was gnawing at him, and he tried to figure out how to approach it obliquely. “Well, it's pretty obvious they're another cohort of RED mercs. But that poor man Ah found ain't comin' back from the dead, and neither is the Heavy that our big lad put down. Ah'm thinkin' they've split from the company.”

“Are you absolutely certain of that, private?” Soldier asked. When Engineer had finished repairing the Gunslinger- and thus, the group of REDs was free to leave their resting place and resume the mission- the older American had gone back to his usual abrasive attitude.

Tavish rolled his eye. “Ah didn't see what ye were doing throughout that fray, but you mighta' noticed a second soldier wearin' our colours? The one who started killin' people on both teams? Either these people are maniacs in stolen uniforms, or they're deserters tryin' tae defend themselves against bein' assassinated by the RED Company. That's probably one of the reasons we were sent out in th'first place, ye ken?”

“Makes sense ta me,” Engineer sighed, loading his shotgun. “Woulda been nice of them to let us know about it in the dossier. Either way, we've gotta get moving.” He paused for a moment, tapping his hand on the smoked hull of a dead sentry. “I wonder who took those sentries out. Y'think Sniper and Spy are around here?” The Texan wasn't wearing his goggles, which would have left him blind in the low light, and his face had an anxious expression as he spoke about those two. Demoman wasn't sure what to make of it.

Soldier curled up his right hand, punching it into his open palm. “If it was them, those boys could be in the mansion already. I don't know what kind of trouble's in there, but they won't get far without backup. Let's move, men!”

Soldier stepped out onto the road and plotted their approach, preferring the pools of darkness between the streetlights that illuminated the compound. Demoman and Engineer followed, wary of snipers and smaller traps. No shots rang out, however, and no tripwires or pressure plates made themselves felt underfoot. The manor lay ahead.

It was colossal, built in a style that reminded Demoman more of American colonial mansions than anything from the British Isles. Darkness obscured the overall size and shape of the manor, but the photograph in the team's dossier revealed a glass dome in the center of the roof, as well as a conservatory and adjoining gardens to the north and west. The wide, flat facade of the building may have once been a cheery white, but neglect and the relentless tropical rainfall had stripped it to the bare wood. By day it looked merely run down, but by night it took on an altogether more sinister atmosphere. Given what he knew of the Mann family's history, the Scotsman had expected something like Dracula's castle or The House of Usher, but the looming ruin was still unsettling in its own way.

When they arrived at the front porch, Soldier was crouched by the door, eyeing it suspiciously. “Steady mate. Ah'm certain' they've rigged it,” Demoman hissed, and turned his attention to other means of entry. The nearest windows were opaque with dust and dirt and an incrustation that may have once been viscose curtains. They seemed safer than the door, though.

“Agreed! Proceed to seek out an alternate means of entry.” Soldier stomped his way towards Tavish’s location. “What's inside that window?”

Flashlights in hand, Tavish and the younger American were studying the windows that would have once let in sweet air and Caribbean sunsets. “They aren't locked, but... Dammit, I'm kinda nervous about the whole thing. I say we look for another way in, somewhere less obvious. There map showed a conservatory on the north end of the house. There was a courtyard to the west, I think, with stairs leadin' up to a second-floor balcony. I doubt if they coulda' set up enough sentries and mines to secure every point of entrance there. I say we try that side.”

A frustrated growl was heard from Soldier. (I knew he'd want to rush this,) Demoman thought, waiting to see how things would play out. Sure enough, the two Americans seemed to be angling for another uneasy face-off.

Tavish turned to the Texan, hoping to reason with him. At least he had a shred of logic to him. “Dammit, Engie, they could've booby-trapped every inch of these grounds by now. Can we let that keep us from getting in there and doing our job? I say we break in right here, right now!”

Engineer sighed and started to object, but Soldier had already turned to work things out with one of the large windows. He reached back with his rocket launcher, then smashed its back-end through a dirty pane. Glass and wood stripping broke, then fell from the edges of the new opening, suspended by a filthy mesh of spider webs and heavily degraded fabric. After picking away the shards, Soldier straightened up for a moment and brushed his hands off.

“See? Now that wasn't too hard, was it?” Soldier suddenly smiled and patted Engineer's shoulder, looking almost jovial for a change. “You don't have to over-think everything, private. It's like that one story you told me—Gordian knot, remember?”

“I...” The little guy seemed confounded for a moment, then smiled as well. “Hell, you're right, Sarge. C'mon, let's go look for our teammates.”

Demoman watched this exchange, feeling a bit curious. (I wonder if they worked out some of their differences while they were making their way alone in this bloody warzone...) He paused for a moment to secure his stash of Molotov appletinis, and out the corner of his eye he could see Engineer starting to climb in through the hole. Just as he had settled one foot inside, the Texan gave a bloodcurdling yell of pain and jerked his whole body up. The noise sent waves of terror rushing through Demoman’s heart. Engineer tumbled back out of the entrance Soldier had made for them. He was still cursing and bleeding as the others gathered around him and tried to determine the nature of his injury.

Tavish could see the whites of Soldier's eyes as he checked over his friend. “What the hell happened? You get cut on the glass, mate?”

The blood was coming from somewhere specific, somewhere below the wounded man's knees. Demoman pulled up the torn cuff of Engineer's left pant leg, and revealed a large, ghastly puncture wound in his calf. “Bloody hell, they're usin' punji sticks! They musta lined 'em up under the windows on the first floor!”

Their dispenser was back in the mess hall, a good two-hundred yards down the road. After fumbling for a moment with a small roll of gauze, Soldier shoved it into Demoman's hands, then relegated himself to the job of calming the injured man. The fabric soaked through quickly, but it was better than nothing. It was enough to staunch the flow of blood, anyhow. Using a shard of glass, Demoman hacked off a long strip of denim from Engineer's bloodied pant leg, then tied it over the gauze.

Engineer was in pain, but perfectly lucid. “That was stupid of me... Dammit! I'll- I can make it ta the healin' station on my own, boys. You two'd better go on without me.” The three of them froze as a sharp sound pierced the night, emphasizing the Engineer’s urgency. Gunfire. It was too close for comfort.

Nonetheless, Soldier hesitated. “I told you I wouldn't leave you behind, private!”

“The man's no' gonna die on us, mate. It won't be an easy walk, but he's right. If that's our teammates in trouble, we've got tae find 'em before they're blown ta th’ Low Road!” It made Demoman cringe to imagine Engineer hobbling back to that building all alone, bleeding the whole way, but the thought of other REDs in mortal danger was worse. Grimacing, he turned away and kicked off an aged baluster from the porch, then handed it to the Texan.

“Thanks, DeGroot. ...rrgh, you two have gotta keep movin'! Sarge, please—don't ya trust me?” Even with pain distorting his features, Engineer managed a pleading look at his older teammate. “You know I can take care of my—Agh, Goddammit!—myself. Even a little pain's not enough t'stop me. I'll make it there alright, and I’ll come lookin' for ya when I'm all fixed up. But right now, you've gotta get out of here and track down our missin' men.”

Soldier had the same dreaded expression as a man about to undergo a root canal. He lowered his head, grinding his teeth audibly, but submitted to the group's plan of action. “Shit, son... You just get yourself patched up, you hear me? You'll know how to find us.

With help from his companions, Engineer managed to rise to a standing position. It was obviously difficult going for him, but the broken baluster served acceptably as a crutch. As they were about to part ways, he glanced back at the others and asked, “How's that?”

Demoman grinned. “Just listen for the explosions, mate.”

Engineer chuckled faintly, then limped off down the road they had come by. As he disappeared into the gloom, Demoman turned his attention to the broken window, which Soldier was peering in through.

Soldier growled lowly. “Of all the dirty bastard tricks to pull! Crippling a man?!”

Leaning in beside Soldier, Demoman could see that there were rows of stake traps, along the wainscoting below each of the windows. The floor beyond them was clear, though. A longer-legged person than Engineer would be able to enter safely, provided he watched his step. “Let's move along, then. Ah dinnae know if that gunfire was comin' from within or without, but there's likely t'be traps either way we go.”

They climbed into the main hall, which was bathed in the sickly glow of lamps that penetrated the dirty windows. The grand staircase in the middle of the room led to a mezzanine that wrapped around the walls on either side, giving access to the second floor. Demoman's flashlight added some clarity, and revealed a kink in their plans. There were many doors in the entryway, all of them leading to God only knows where.

“We don't have all night to explore this moldering mansion,” Soldier grunted, looking around. “Our boys are somewhere out there, and we've got to find them now! Sooner than now! An hour ago! You must've been in more haunted houses than me, Demoman. What's the fastest route through here?!”

After bolstering his strength with a slug of Caribbean fire-water, Demoman narrowed his eye and tried to think logically. He was on the brink of just choosing at random when his good eye caught something. Muddy footprints marked a trail across the tile floor and up the stairs. There had been a lot of foot-traffic through this area, true, but something about these ones stood out to him. He pressed his fingertips on back of his neck, shivering as his mind gave way to dark thoughts. “Ah think we oughta go this way...”

__________________________

No more gunfire was heard as the two REDs crept through the mansion. Demoman had no idea how thick the walls were, but they were doing a good job at stifling noise. He and Soldier moved side by side through the halls. The latter had traded his rocket launcher for a shotgun, displaying a little more common sense than the Scotsman thought he possessed. With only a flashlight's beam to show way ahead, this environment felt more dangerous in some ways than the jungle had. The floor creaked in some places. A stretch of hallway punctuated by broken windows was particularly treacherous, as decades of tropical rainfall blowing in had rotted the wood, causing it to yield underfoot like wet sponge.

It occurred to Tavish that he could be leading them to their doom, but something nagged at him to press on. Just as he had been compelled to investigate the shed, he now felt the irresistible pull of something in the manor, something that he could not yet explain.

Soldier barely spoke. Like Demoman, he was probably keeping his ears perked for any alarming or suspicious noises. When a thin rectangle of light appeared ahead of the two men, it took them a moment to realize they were seeing a set of double doors, slightly ajar. The American's breath was suddenly nearer, and Demoman heard him whisper, “This could be it, Private. I don't know if that door is going to make a racket, but if it doesn't give us away, the flashlight definitely will. Don't wave it around when we get in there. Just keep it aimed on the floor.”

“Aye, we should seek cover as soon as we're in. Let's hope we spot him before he spots us.” He crept towards the doors, and curled his free hand around the cracked one's handle. There seemed to be a light coming from within the room, something stronger than what the waning moon could provide. Demoman took a deep breath. “Alright, here we go. On th’ count ‘a three. One... two... three.”

As the door was drawn back, something fell through it and hit the floor with a loud clatter, wedging the two doors apart. Soldier was already trying to lunge through when it happened, and he promptly tripped over the obstacle, before scrambling out of sight on his hands and knees. Thoroughly spooked, Demoman hurled himself away from the entrance, then looked back that he realized the source of the noise was a tall wooden chair. It had been tipped against the door on two legs, arranged to come crashing over when someone tried to enter the room.

Demoman's heart was pounding as he realized the implications of this. (Someone must be in there, and he didn't want us to slip through unnoticed.) Before he heard the culprit yelling, he was already certain who it was. Sure enough, Demoman's deduction proved to be true as the Colonel boomed, “More REDs?! I'm surprised you bastards managed to track me down here! Or maybe you're just stumbling around this crumbling old wreck, looking for more c-rations to steal from my team?!” The renegade's tone of voice was almost amused.

Even though he knew his position was a dangerous one, Demoman didn't have the slightest intention of abandoning his teammate or letting that damn renegade get away. He turned off his flashlight and crouched behind one of the doors, then cautiously peered into the room.

From his position, he found himself looking down from the second floor the manor's library. It was a huge octagonal chamber, three stories in height, with a glass dome overhead that emitted weak moonlight. Tall bookshelves were arranged around the room's centre like the sun's rays, dominating the floor space at ground level. The second level consisted of a ring-shaped balcony wide enough for chairs and reading desks. Above that was an airy clerestory with only a narrow aisle along its walls.

A modern floodlight provided blinding illumination of the main floor, but Demoman couldn't see the enemy. “Hell's bells, he could be anywhere down there.”

Just ahead of the doorway was a flight of stairs, with moldering settees to either side. RED Soldier was hiding in the shadows behind one of them, readying his rocket launcher and bristling with anger. “So, if it isn't the man in charge of this treasonous operation! What kind of soldier hides from his enemies or flees the battlefield? YOU are a DISGRACE to this UNIFORM! When I find you, I'm sending you on the Pain Train to Deathville, U.S.A!”

“You've got a big mouth, Private, but it'll take more than hot air to kill me! All of you punks are WEAK and INCOMPETENT!” The Colonel's voice rang out from the shadows, powerful enough to be heard through the open doors. Demoman wasn't sure if he had a loudspeaker or if he was just that good at yelling.

“Those are big words, coming from someone who's COWERING in the darkness down there! A REAL MAN KNOWS NO FEAR!” The fact that Soldier was hunkered down behind something didn't seem to matter to him—or maybe he knew his hiding spot was pretty obvious.

The irony wasn't lost on the Colonel, who laughed arrogantly. “I couldn't help but notice that all you toy soldiers were taking baby-steps out there this afternoon, scrambling for cover when the BLUs showed up for another phony battle! You’re not even putting your life on the line, but you’re still hiding from ME! If THAT isn't cowardice, I don't know what is!”

“I have a mission to accomplish here, maggot! There's no shame in being efficient!” The Maverick's words must have flustered Soldier. Even hidden in the shadows, Demoman could see him fidgeting. To prove the enemy wrong by charging was sort of a tempting thought, but more likely than not, they would just get gored by their own impatience.

A scathing reply echoed up from among the bookshelves. “Playing at armed combat for two feeble old men is NOT a REAL mission! It's a ridiculous, dishonourable waste of time. I'll bet you've never even SEEN a REAL war, you pantywaist!“

Demoman was tempted to shout a retort when he realized two things. First, the Colonel didn't seem to know he was present in the room yet, and keeping hidden for now might be valuable. Second, the bit about the Mann brothers' ongoing feud was partially true. As far as wars went, it was about as threatening and fatal as a round of cops and robbers- temporary loss of life was a convenience not yet available to any world power. He thought to himself, (Bah, we're paid well enough. And even if the cause is fairly ridiculous, we dinnae' fight without honour...)

RED Soldier didn't take the taunts as well. Damned if he hadn’t tried to get into every war since his birth. With a scream of rage, he lunged from his hiding place and fired a rocket into the manor's collection of books. It exploded somewhere amidst the shelves, toppling them away from the blast in either direction like huge dominoes. Splinters of wood and smouldering paper were dashed around the library's first level. Decades’ worth of dust rose from the neglected collection in a thick plume, polluting the air.

As Soldier was studying the ruins at the foot of the stairs, Demoman clambered into the room and crouched behind the old couch opposite his teammate's. The American squinted through the smog, frowning. “I don't see the bastard anywhere down there. Maybe I oughta take another shot at that mess, just in case.”

“Get down!” Demoman hissed.

A moment later, one of the Colonel's rockets came screaming towards Soldier and struck the settee in front of him. The blast threw him back against the wall, while his rocket launcher went rolling off down the stairs and vanished from sight. As he lay bleeding in the aftermath, riddled with shrapnel and murderous splinters, Soldier growled angrily. “...well, shit. He wasn't down there in the first place.”

Across the promenade, safely above the destruction on the ground floor, the Colonel emerged from behind some furniture. He slung the Black Box across his back, then began plodding towards the fallen RED, giving a grim chuckle. “Have you ever been in a real fight, boy? Ever fought for your life?”

“I fight for my life every day, maggot... Out in the field, it's life and death, every day of the week... Only real men can handle the work a soldier does. Is... is that why you turned tail and quit working for the company?” In the darkness, only the ghost of Soldier's baleful expression could be seen. He was clearly in pain but hanging on, through stubbornness if anything.

“Life and death? HAH! You just don't get it, do you? In a real war, only the strong survive. When you don't have death around anymore to weed out the weaklings and the incompetent fuckups, what do you get? Those respawn machines have turned fighting into a kid's game!” The Colonel spat, then scoffed bitterly. “That's not war, and you are not a soldier! You're just a pale imitation of the real thing, a scarecrow. All of the mercenaries they hire turn out the same way! If there was ever any grit or guts in you, son, it's been sucked out by play-fighting on the Mann brothers' phony battlefield. You can't even die! And let me tell you what can't die- something that's not even alive in the first place.”

The RED Soldier convulsed with rage. “Shut your disrespectful pie-hole! Hrrgh... get over here, I'll show you guts! I'll tear yours out and... agh, and use them to strangle you!”

As the renegade approached, Demoman felt torn between shouting a retort on his teammate's behalf- which would blow his cover- or preparing an ambush. There was still a lot of dust in the air, and smoke from the wreckage below. With the room's only light source obscured amidst the debris, the mezzanine was awash in crawling darkness. (That's it, I'm doing this. No sense wasting an opportunity to finish off this bloody madman...)

Wary of the open space where the balcony dipped down into a staircase, Demoman crept through the shadows back to the wall, then made his way to where Soldier had landed. An oriental statue of a lion stood between them, breaking up the Scotsman's shadow. In a nearly inaudible whisper, he said, “Keep him talking, but dinnae say a word about me. Ah'm gonna read him his rights.” Hearing a grunt of recognition from the other man, Demoman took out his sticky launcher and thanked the powers that be for reminding him to load it beforehand- that was the only noisy function the device had. When the grizzled renegade resumed rambling at his injured counterpart, Tavish said a silent prayer and set to work. It was hard aiming from his position, but he managed to land four of the little bombs on the seat of an old plush chair. (The Colonel will never see them from where he's coming around. Hah, if I'm really lucky, he'll sit on them.)

A blinding flash appeared from the maverick's direction- he had an electric torch aimed at Soldier now, a spotlight revealing the injured man amidst the gloom, boring into him like an accusation. Demoman squinted out from the shadows where he was concealed, and watched the enemy advance on them at a casual pace. It seemed he was in no hurry to kill Soldier, not when he could lecture him first. “Son, before I signed up with Reliable Explosives and Demolition, I was a real soldier. I was in a real unit, with real men, who fought alongside me in real battles... The people we killed didn't come back in a minute, fresh and new, and when one of my buddies got his ticket punched, we buried him and moved on. It was many things to me, but you know what? I learned to make all of it a part of who I am, and when I was out there, I felt alive.

“Then that gig was over, and I needed a new job. Had to find somewhere I could leave my sins behind, and do what I loved most. More mercenary work! And this time, they said, the fear of death wasn't going to be part of the equation. Me and my boys could kill- and be killed- 'til the cows come home, and at the end of the day we'd shower and eat and sleep, just like any working stiff in the city.”

As he talked and walked at a relaxed snail's pace, the Colonel kept his light on Soldier, who was probably grateful that oversized helmet covered his eyes. The RED mercenary coughed, then straightened up a bit, trying to find his voice. “Where's all that crap about the war being some kind of farce, now? You're a big, fat hypocrite. A big, fat hypocrite who talks too damn much!”

Beads of sweat were creeping through Demoman's scalp, vexing him sorely. He couldn't move until the enemy was in range of his bombs, though. Absolute stillness was his friend right now, and his saviour. For lack of anything else to do, he listened to the older Soldier's monologue.

“You call me a hypocrite? ...hah, I was for a while. Going wherever I was sent, fighting for whatever ridiculous goal they asked me to, just like an obedient little toy soldier. Being sent to this island was the last straw for me! The only equipment they sent us that worked as intended was the fucking respawn machine. We were all ready to take off then, contracts and company assassins be damned. But then Tex put a bug in my ear... Bah, but that's irrelevant. Here and now, I'm a REAL Soldier again, MY LIFE in MY HANDS, ready to live or die fighting. And you... YOU!”

(Oh, you're in for a surprise. Just a few more paces...) Demoman's body tensed in anticipation of the blast. He was a little intrigued by the man's words, almost curious to know everything that had brought the Colonel to this point in time and space, what had turned him into such a person... But one thing mattered more to Demoman than anything else right now, and that was revenge. (I don't care if he's the Queen of Sheba, he murdered a Clansman. I'm going to do such a job on this bastard, they'll be picking bits of him off the walls and ceiling.)

Soldier growled, his lips drawn back in a bulldog's grimace. The Colonel spat, moving inexorably towards his doom. Nine steps... eight... seven... “YOU ARE NOTHING! YOU ARE A HOLLOW IMITATION OF A FIGHTING MAN! YOU ARE NOT EVEN ALIVE! THAT is why I turned my back on the company, MAGGOT! Because as long as I was a part of their make-believe war, I could never-”

Demoman triggered the sticky-bombs. There was a guttering explosion that threw shrapnel, flesh and upholstery in all directions, shaking the promenade. The Colonel's flashlight ceased to be, and the area was plunged into darkness. Although the Scotsman was satisfied he'd timed his attack perfectly, something nagged at him in the moment of silence that followed.

He reached for his flashlight and strode from his hiding place, hurrying to investigate what remained of their enemy. Against anything he could have anticipated, Demoman found himself hoping it wasn't too late to get some answers.

Welp, as you can see I am obviously very, VERY late to the party. I can't believe I didn't start reading this sooner, because it's definitely one of the best fics on the site. It's beautifully written, you pay attention to all the mercenaries in their separate plotlines without making it too confusing, there's sex and gore. Yes, this is definitely my favourite type of fic.
I take it that rogue Soldier is dead now... Pity. I actually kind of liked him, you know. He had skill and knew what the hell he was doing. Well... mostly then.
Anyway, you can definitely expect to see me again in the very near future, because I am loving this!

>>166 Thanks! I try... As for your question, that will be answered soon. But first, here's an update. I would have worked on it sooner, but my computer upchucked and died Friday and I spent the rest of the weekend crying and screaming and wrestling with the fuckin' thing.

Incidental note: The weapon BLU Spy is using is actually an Inglis Hi-power, a variant of the Browning Hi-power that was produced by the John Inglis Company in Canada during World War Two. When it became apparent that the Fabrique Nationale plant in Belgium (where the Browning was being manufactured) would fall into German hands, the British sought to find a new manufacturer in safer territory. The Germans themselves made use of the FN plant, releasing the Browning under the name Pistole 640(b). It was used predominantly among the Waffen-SS and Fallschirmjäger.
_____________________________________________

"This is like bloody déjà vu," Sniper muttered, following the translucent shape of his usual nemesis. The manor was much darker now than it had been in the afternoon, but Kelly's lighter and that trail of cables helped guide the three men towards their goal. Considering that they had infiltrated the conservatory once already, the Australian was expecting to run afoul of booby traps, or at least someone keeping guard, but their route was surprisingly free of fresh defensive measures.

As he crept through the darkness with his cohorts, Sniper was trying to formulate a plan of attack for when they arrived. He realized there was no way of knowing who would be there and focused on his surroundings instead. Ahead of him, BLU Spy was silent and moving with the confidence that comes from being nearly invisible. (I can't believe I've lasted the whole day without killing him. He's going to turn on us eventually, it's just his nature. Slimy bastard...) This was the first time Sniper had ever been in his rival's company for longer than it took one man to finish the other, and part of him was wishing the BLU agent would break the spell, would finally live up to his expectations of treachery. He frowned, running a hand over his face and considering his own reasons for not backstabbing Spy. It was the hostile territory they were in more than anything. Until Sniper knew that horrible renegade soldier was dead, he couldn't bring himself to kill the Canadian without provocation. (Christ, this must be making me soft. I'm almost starting to think of him as an ally.)

Ahead, the end of the hall appeared in the form of those same double doors they had seen before. A thin shaft of light fell on the group as they stopped in their tracks. Sounds of conversation could be heard from the next room. Sniper glanced back at Scout, and gestured for the boy to come up alongside him. "Let's wait a moment. I don't know what's going on in there," he whispered.

Spy stood between the REDs and the door, but Sniper deferred the task of eavesdropping to him. After a few moments, the Québécois grumbled faintly. "Sounds like da Doctor and da Engineer. Dey're arguing about somet'ing, I didn't catch all of it."

"Well, there's more of us than there are of them. I reckon that door's still noisy, so we'll have to come in with our weapons at the ready." Sniper frowned. He would have preferred to sneak in and perforate some heads, but nothing else had gone right today, so he wasn’t about to push his luck. His teammate nodded anxiously in some form of agreement, but the invisible man was naturally gun-shy.

Spy laid out his plan. "You guys can't get in dere unseen. I can. If you two distract dem wit' a little gun-waving, I'll sneak in after you and pick dem bot' off."

That was the kind of suggestion Sniper was expecting. He gave the blue blur a nonplussed look, considering both the situation now and what had gone before. Then Scout spoke for the first time since they left the kitchen, which took both of his companions by surprise. "Hey, if you're gonna do that, you don't need your gun. Give it to me. Those fuckers took my Force-a-Nature, so I'm stuck with a fuckin' Saturday night special. They ain't gonna put their hands up if I come in pointin' that at 'em, y'know?" The kid smiled impishly, which was sort of a relief to Sniper. He'd been worried by Scout's lack of moxie.

It came as no surprise that Spy was disagreeable to this suggestion. "Why da fuck would I—Hostie, do you really t'ink I'd turn on you at dis point?"

"Think of it as insurance, mate," Sniper grunted, giving Spy a meaningful glare. "Besides, the boy's right. That Walther of his wouldn't scare a bloody corner store clerk, let alone these blokes."

Spy groaned in disgust but capitulated, and gave his considerably sturdier handgun over to Scout. The American accepted it with a shit-eating grin and offered his own weapon in return, but was turned down. "I'll manage wit' da rest of my gear. Now get in dere. I'll be right behind you."

After the harrowing events of the day, Sniper was ready for just about anything. So when he kicked the door open and lunged into the room with Scout hot on his heels, he was only marginally surprised to discover an active sentry in the room. It was aimed in the direction of the door, and stood between the REDs and the renegades, beeping cheerfully at the sudden appearance of moving targets.

Scout reacted faster than anyone else in room, including his teammate. "Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?!" he bawled, tackling Sniper down behind the nearest cover.

Sniper's mind was still in the midst of analyzing the situation. He landed on his side and gave a grunt of pain. The sound of automatic gunfire sent an instinctive jolt of alarm through the marksman, and he looked up at Scout, feeling shock and anger give way to relief. He had saved the other RED in the same manner, during their first disastrous fight in the conservatory. As the sentry's twin machine-guns went quiet, Sniper found his voice again. "Good reflexes, mate."

The boy punched his shoulder, smirking faintly. "Hey, what're friends for? I had ta pay you back for this afternoon." As the two men disentangled themselves, they could hear the sentry's curious whirr, and their enemies lapsing into a heated discussion of the situation.

Ruprecht seemed to be in a furious panic, and was speaking much louder than Tex. "Now vhat are you going to do about zhem?! Turn zhat verdammt robot off. Ve cannot even step onto zhat side of ze room vith it zhere, let alone go over to kill ze intruders!"

A large metalworking press provided cover for the two REDs, but not much of a view. Peering through a gap in the casing, Sniper could see just enough of Ruprecht to know the man was armed. "If that bastard comes around here, I'll cut his fucking throat," he murmured, wondering what kind of a shot he might be able to get from their current position.

The renegade Engineer spoke up, sounding strangely relaxed about the situation. "Hold your horses. They're not goin' anywhere with my sentry aimed at 'em. Did Kelly take his sniper rifle back ta the break room, or is it—"

Ruprecht stomped about. "Vhere you even listening to me?! Kelly is probably dead! I haff no idea vhere his gun is, and ve must act now! Zhey could have rearmed zhemselves, and—Scheiße, one of zhem vas a spy! He could be anyvhere! Look for him!"

Although he was still expecting BLU Spy to begin the festivities by backstabbing him, Sniper only devoted a moment to checking behind himself and his teammate, before he began looking for an opening. Even if he couldn't see much of the enemy from here, he knew the sentry was perfectly susceptible to gunfire. Beside him, Scout seemed to be thinking the same thing. Before they could open fire, an electro-sapper appeared on the robot. It shut down with an unhealthy grinding sound. Seeing the opportunity at hand, Sniper hissed, "Now!"

With their weapons drawn, the REDs emerged from cover to see Tex and Ruprecht scrambling towards the damaged machine. The renegades stopped in their tracks when they saw guns pointing at them. The Engineer stepped back and lifted his hands, but Ruprecht fumbled to return the threatening gesture with his own weapon—the stolen Force-a-Nature.

"You motherfucker! That's mine!" Scout was incensed at the sight of his beloved scattergun. He took aim at Ruprecht, who seemed to much less confident in dealing with enemies who weren't tied up.

Sniper was in less of a hurry. "Hold off for a moment. We won't get a second chance to grill these wankers for information. He can't hurt us anyways. You know that thing's only dangerous at point-blank range."

The doctor's face was looking a little grey. "Zhis is murder! You know ve are no longer connected to ze respawn system!"

"Never stopped anyone before," Sniper said dryly. "You lot are probably the real reason we were sent here. I don't give a toss for company loyalty, but you must've known it'd end like this when you broke your contracts. I'd be all for killing you bastards anyways, out of a sense of professional obligation. But I reckon you've earned a violent end—especially you, Doc." The marksman instinctively lifted a hand to adjust the shades that were no longer there, then spat. "You know what, Scout? Changed my mind."

A stranger would have found it chilling how quickly Scout followed his suggestion, but Sniper had a pretty good idea of how the kid was feeling. This was revenge. Before Ruprecht could brace the Force-a-Nature against his hip, he was falling to the floor with three fresh bullet-holes in his body. Wounded and at his wit's end, the Medic didn't meekly submit to his fate. He scrabbled over the floor on hands and knees, finding shelter behind his teammate. "Get the fuck outta the way, asshole!" Scout barked, waving his gun at the rogue engineer.

Tex looked at the REDs, his expression hidden behind inscrutably dark goggles, then sighed and turned to deal with Ruprecht. "Now hold on. There's no need for this. Just lemme take care a something, and I'll tell you folks whatever you want to know."

Scout growled but held back from shooting both men, much to Sniper's relief. The Texan's body language didn't sit right with him, though, and he felt himself tensing up instinctively. He could see a sliver of Ruprecht's face as the man struggled to sit up; he was sickly pale, regarding Tex with with a sort of appalled desperation. The Australian spoke, "Oi, I want both of your hands where I can—"

The sound of a gunshot cut him off, and Sniper stared at the two renegades. Scout gawked as well, and exclaimed, "What the fuck, man? " Ruprecht was now cooling on the floor with a fatal head-wound, delivered by his own teammate.

Words bubbled up in Sniper's mind, seemingly of their own accord. (The unkindest cut of all,) he thought, frowning. Nobody would miss that German psychopath, but suffering a murderous betrayal? It was a hell of a way to go.

Tex lifted the burly looking revolver he'd used to finish off the doctor- a Colt SAA, no less- and displayed the palms of his hands to the REDs. "Now that that's over with, you fella's can stand down. Same with you, Spy, wherever you are. We're all workin' for the same people right now."

"No goddamn way," said a disembodied voice. "I'm not doing anyt'ing until I know what dis is all about."

"Fuckin' A," Scout drawled, thumbing the Browning's business end. Sniper glanced at him for a moment and gave a short, sharp nod, then turned his eyes back to Tex.

(Smart lad,) he thought.

"I can understand yer apprehensions, so I'll let you in on this here situation. Y'all have seen that secret door by now, and you've probably figured out there's somethin' pretty big on the other side. Damn right there is—that's one of Radigan Conagher's old laboratories! That's why I'm here. This's all approved, I've been talkin' with the lady in charge about it..." The grizzled engineer smiled. His expression would have seemed more charming if it wasn't for the body on the floor behind him. "Now, she's pretty keen on acquirin' this manor's secrets. Turns out the plantation's ownership is under dispute, but anything that old genius left here belongs to the Mann Company now. Nobody's gettin' in there without my help, so you boys just sit back and put yer heels up for a while. I've got the code almost cracked."

The name Tex had mentioned gnawed at Sniper's memory, but he couldn't recall its significance. Hoping to avoid any sudden death experiences, he lowered his rifle, came out from behind the RED's hiding place, then moved past the ruined sentry and put his back against the wall. As if sensing his unease, Scout came out and joined him. "I suppose you expect us to take your word for all this? The bloke in charge mentioned what you're working on in 'ere, but he didn't say a bloody thing about the Administrator's involvement. In fact, he made it sound like you lot were working against her. Not to mention the rest of us."

Scout bristled and added, "Yeah, your fuckin' buddies had a lot of fun with us while we were tied up. I oughta blow your brains out just for that!"

"Now calm down, son. This operation's been extremely dangerous for me. You try workin' behind the Colonel's back! He won't give you no more trouble tonight, and if he decides to come down here, y'all are free to kill him. I had a hell of a time keepin' his suspicions offa me, let me tell you. The man's paranoid." With a demeanor that was understandably wary, Tex sidled away from the REDs, and towards the alcove where the sealed door was set. When he reached the other end of the room without taking a knife to the back, his attention seemed to turn to the computer, which was still working indefatigably at its task.

"This is bogus," Scout muttered, trading dubious looks with Sniper. "Seriously, I think we oughta just kill him. What the fuck is this guy trying to pull? You think he's tellin' the truth about working for the Mann Company, like... like some kinda double agent?"

"I don't know. I'm not putting my gun down, that's for bloody sure. If he's lying, he's certainly taken it farther than I would have." Sniper's gaze flickered to Ruprecht's mortal remains, which were still draining onto the floor, an ugly reminder of the manner in which the man had lived and died. "I can't tell you what to make of all this..."

The younger man frowned at scene around them, absentmindedly rubbing his nose. "What a fuckin' mess. Hey, you think that spy's taken off?"

"Nah, he's probably loafing about somewhere. Waiting for an opportunity. If that engineer's telling the truth, we're probably expected to stand down until the Administrator's contacted us. She's gonna have to send someone here, if the Mann Company wants whatever's in that sealed room.” He paused, then sighed. “If he's lying, we may as well take a breather anyhow. We'd never get that door open on our own. And we've got our guns pointed at that filthy little bugger, just in case he gets any funny ideas." Despite his best efforts, Sniper couldn't stifle the yawn that was rising up from inside of him. His wounds had been mended, but blood loss and mental fatigue were taking their toll. He let his rucksack fall to the crook of his elbow, then rifled through it with his free hand and took out a tin of rations. "Cover me for a moment, I'm bloody famished. You want some ANZAC biscuits?"

Scout appeared to be in the same state as himself, and blinked owlishly at the question. "Whahuh? Oh, hardtack... gross, that stuff's like cardboard. I got some cookies left. I'll eat when you're done. Hey, can I have a cigarette?"

Sniper growled irritably, but decided to indulge the kid. Unlike Spy, his life didn't depend on a continuous supply of nicotine, and he could spare one or two. After both REDs were furnished with cigarettes, Sniper sagged to the floor and lay his rifle across his knees, then ate quickly. He could see a faint distortion on the other side of the room, where BLU agent was lurking like a deadly mirage. (I almost feel sorry for him, skulking over there all alone.)

For the first time in hours, Sniper's mind was free to wander to other topics, and he soon found himself longing for Engineer's company. (God, I don't know if I can look you in the eye after what happened. I'm such a bloody fool. I never should've agreed to come here with Spy, I just couldn't seem to control myself last night! If only I'd been with you instead... why wasn't it you?) The marksman grimaced. There were more pressing matters at hand than the state of Sniper's relationship with Engineer, but in the absence of mortal danger, all of his desires and uncertainties began settling around him like a blanket of snow. He gnawed morosely at a piece of hardtack, and wondered if Engineer would forgive him. He wondered if he could forgive himself.

Oh my god this is so great. I'm so afraid of what's behind the door.

One tiny typo: Ruprecht stomped about. "Vhere you even listening to me?

The vhere should be vere, to distinguish between where and were.

After the Engineer/Soldier scenes, I'm afraid I became too upset to continue reading. This is a wonderful story, and I love your writing! But I guess I loved the previous installment too much -- that it to say, I became awfully attached to how you developed Engineer and Sniper together.

The focus of this story is not romance, of course, so I feel very silly about being so affected by a minor plot thread in a grand story with many plot threads. But it just felt so off to me -- the idea that they had such a lovely start of a relationship, that eventually developed into Engineer thinking that he'd probably rather have sex with Sniper than Soldier if he were around (and not in mortal danger). But only probably.

It's just hard to come to terms with the idea that this is the same Engineer that hesitantly confessed his affection for Sniper. People change and people cheat, of course, but it doesn't seem that you intended for him to change that much from the first story to this one. The abruptness was painful to me.

I know I'm just another anon, but I hope my comments will be of some small value to you.

I can't believe I've lasted the whole day without killing him

Oh, wow, that's right, it has only been one day. With so many thing happening, I had completely lost the sense of time.

I wasn't expecting the Engineer to be a mole (or to pretend to be a mole, whatever the case). I'm very curious to see what happens next. Assuming the Colonel is dead, and assuming Andy stays down, Tex's the only one left. I wonder if we can consider the fighting basically over, or if he'll try to attack the guys.


Man, what is it with that Team, they don't give a flying fuck about each other at all. They murder their own Spy and Demoman in cold blood, with the only comment being "I never liked them anyway." They leave their Heavy to die under enemy fire, and all but celebrate because now they can take his share of the money. They leave their Scout behind to be tortured and murdered, the boy only survived because the enemies were merciful. They put down their Doctor and sell out their Soldier.

I know you've said that you don't mean them to come across as excessively villainous, that you only mean them to be greedy and desperate. But honestly, all I can think of them is "Gawd, what a bunch of assholes!"

>>168 arrrrgh... I knew I'd overlook something! I'll just hafta stomach leaving that in this posting, but I'll fix it in the hardcopy. Thanks for letting me know.

>>169 Aw, I'm sorry you feel that way. If it's any consolation, things aren't over for those two. There will be lots of feels when they're finally reunited, the danger has passed, and they can get some quiet time together in the tropics.

>>170 Yeah, it's probably getting near midnight at this point, but most of this has happened over the course of a day. I can't answer your other questions yet, obviously- all will be revealed in time.

The renegade Spy's death was just an accident, although... yeah, there's not much cohesion between them at this point. There was probably a time the group worked together more closely, but they've been unravelling since they split from the company and set up camp in a crumbling manor in the jungle. They're definitely not nice people, even less so now than they were in more stable circumstances.

Mini-update: Andy the Scout is alone, so alone. I'll probably have the next up in a day or two, it's just some important stuff, so I'm still brushing it up to my satisfaction.

________________________________________

As far as his days in the jungle had been, this probably counted among the worst for Andy. It was definitely the worst one in recent memory, even counting everything else that had happened since his team split from the company, and set up camp out here in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere. (No, not Buttfuck, Nowhere. Even farther from home than that. We're talkin' the asshole of the world, out here.)

There were times for charging forwards in life and living in the moment, and times for looking back on everything you had ever done and wondering if you made a few bad choices somewhere in between. The latter wasn't something Andy experienced very often, but he was definitely having one of those moments right now. Half-hobbling, half-hopping through the darkness with absolutely no way to defend himself and no idea where to go next, he couldn't feel much right now aside from fear and regret.

Oh there had been anger, too. Plenty of it. He had expended his ample supply of the emotion in the short time between Ruprecht's flight and that BLU fucker's ultimatum. Andy cringed and tightened his duct-taped fist as he remembered the sight of that scalpel just inches away from his remaining fingers. Then he grimaced at the sensation of sweat pooling in the creases of his right hand. (I've gotta get this fuckin' tape off before, before my hand starts to cook alive, or rot, or somethin'. This can't be good for me. Gotta get the tape off my mouth too, while I'm at it.)

Andy already knew the front door wouldn't be safe. It was booby-trapped. Taking a dive from one of the second story windows would be marginally less suicidal, so he went to the big hall anyways, planning to take the stairs up. When he arrived there and saw the broken window, his heart leapt painfully in his chest. (Oh fuck, we've got more intruders over here!) Eyes wide with alarm, he tottered over to examine the scene more closely.

Even in the bad light, he could make out dark stains on the stakes they'd arranged below the windows. The blood didn't go any further inside than that. He could see more out on the porch, painting a trail that lead off down the road. (Did someone leave through the window, then? Maybe that's where Ruprecht went. Fuckin' chickenshit son of a bitch...) Leaning cautiously over, Andy noticed there wasn't much glass outside on the porch, and decided to make a jump for freedom.

By throwing himself out the window he managed to avoid the stake trap, but landed rather awkwardly, and took about a minute to get upright again. Rolling around in dirt and splinters and someone else's blood, Andy felt some of his anger coming back. It was a good feeling. Anger was better than fear. Once he was up, he decided to follow the bleeder's tracks down the road. (It's gotta be Ruprecht. When I find that asshole, I'm gonna bite his fuckin' face off. He didn't even fix my fuckin' arm!) Truth be told, the aborted transplant procedure had freaked Andy out, but looking back on it now, he was sort of wishing Ruprecht had been able to complete it. (How did those fuckers get loose, anyhow? Kelly must've fucked up. I don't know what he did, but I just know it's his fault. I wonder if they killed him. Fuck, I wonder how I'm gonna get off this island... I don't wanna end up like the rest of those assholes.)

Shambling through alternating pools of darkness and light, Andy made his way slowly down the road, and his mind turned again to regrets. It was hard not to brood. (When we came out here, I thought it'd turn out like one of those westerns where the heroes rob a train or some shit, and ride off into the sunset at the end. Now it's turning out like that one where Humphrey Bogart shoots his buddy for the gold, then gets himself killed off by bandits. Fuck, I never shoulda come here...)

There was a time when he would have been horrified by all the death around him, but bit by bit, his team's brotherly love for one another had eroded. Their first stint on the island had been bad enough. Between the malfunctioning equipment and the choking atmosphere, only the hope of victory over the BLUs—and the fat bonus to their salaries that would have come with it—kept Andy and his teammates from falling apart. Things had only gotten worse after that. Now, as Andy struggled to cover ground through the treacherous dark, he felt only a weary acknowledgement of the other men's deaths. There wasn't much room left in his heart to worry about other people, and he could only think of one person who roused feelings of sadness within him.

On the plantation's lonely road, with only the night for companionship, Andy paused for a moment and found himself wincing back tears. That BLU Spy's words were still haunting him. He really was as far from home as he could possibly get. (I don't wanna get killed out here! Oh God, what'll happen to me? Will Ma ever find out if I die?)

Oh god Andy, now I'm hoping he doesn't die. Poor kid...

>>173 All will be revealed in time... for now, an update for Demoman and Soldier, and also Engineer.

___________________________________

Demoman's flashlight revealed the body of the renegade, lying flat on his back amidst the debris. The explosion had torn the clothes from the left half of his body, as well an arm and a good deal of flesh to boot. If he was still alive, he wouldn't be for very long.

A growl of contempt rose from the RED Soldier, who was nursing his own injuries. Demoman studied the scene with more weariness than vengeful delight. The day had been terribly long, and he had spent far too much of it sober. A gulp of volatile rum took the edge off of his mood. As he stepped towards the Colonel, Demoman began feeling more satisfaction with his work. "You're no' gettin' up after that, ye bastard."

Against all odds, the rogue mercenary gave a bubbly groan. Demoman tensed, watching the Colonel's remaining hand like a hawk. He scrabbled at the floor, then rose up and weakly searched for something at his left hip. As if echoing Tavish's own thoughts, Soldier hissed, "Has he got a sidearm?! A grenade?"

"...dammit," came a choked whisper from the floor. Whatever he hoped to find, it was no longer there.

Summoning his nerve, Demoman stalked over and kicked the Colonel's hand off to one side, then pinned it to the floor with a boot-toe. He shined his light on the man's head, and snarled, "If there's any life left in ye, mate, you'd best be usin' it tae say your last words. It's over."

The Colonel's helmet had come off in the blast, and his face was torn and bleeding, embedded with shrapnel. He squinted against the flashlight's beam, and even with his life draining out onto the floor, there was a wild gleam in his eyes. It was an awareness that most men lost when they were this far gone. "So, you caught up with me. I knew you were... nggh... stubborn enough for the job. I can see that look on your face. This is personal, isn't it?"

A jolt of alarm struck Demoman. The last thing he wanted right now was for the dying man to start talking about Jane. He swallowed the knot in his throat, then said, "Ah found your team's Demoman. What happened on this island? Why was he killed?"

"The Scot... So that's what this is all about? Not that guy who... saved your sorry carcass, back in the jungle?" The Colonel was struggling to breathe, let alone speak, but his tone was remarkably casual. Their conversation could have been completely normal, if it wasn't for the fact that one participant was on the verge of death. He gave a weak, embittered growl. "I'm the one who killed him. He sold us out... Tex caught him radioing someone at TF Industries, and... came to me about it. I didn't want to terminate one of my own men, but-" He suddenly balked and turned his head to one side, then coughed up a frothy mess of blood.

Demoman grimaced, feeling a dull sort of horror at the Colonel's story. Betraying an employer was bad enough, but selling your teammates out? It was hard for him to imagine a clansman doing that. True, he didn't personally know every other Demoman in the world, but turning traitor went against the code of ethics that HE was raised with. Slowly shaking his head, he spoke to the man on the floor. "All of your people had t'know you'd be hunted down by the company for goin' rogue. Why'd ye do it?"

"...everyone had their own reasons. Greed, mostly. We were all sick of the bullshit... and Tex promised the boys that whatever was sealed away behind that door, it'd make them... so rich and powerful, they'd be set for life." A rueful smile tugged at the Colonel's face, despite the pain he was doubtlessly feeling. "I don't know if there's riches in there, or bombs, or... just a whole bunch of old garbage, but even when we split from RED... I knew it wouldn't pay off. Not soon enough to save us. I just wanted to die like a real man... not running from company assassins, or the CIA, or everyone else who wants me dead. Like a man... with my boots on."

As the Colonel started talking about greed and sealed riches, the two REDs stopped making sense of his story. In the choking heat of that ruined library, they stared at the dying man and listened with mounting confusion. Soldier blurted, "What in God's name do you mean by that? Explain yourself, you dirty bastard traitor!"

"You'll know soon enough," the older man rasped, struggling not to choke on his own gore. He was grimacing now, in pain rather than anger, too weak to display more than momentary spasms of emotion. Still pinned under Demoman's boot, his hand was like a latex glove, waxen and motionless. After clearing more blood from his trachea, he added, "There's no way in hell that... Tex is going to give this place's secrets up to anybody. Not without... a fight. When he wants something, he's unstoppable."

Overcome by a fresh wave of burning curiosity, Demoman crouched down and grabbed the Colonel's shoulder, giving him a shake. "What bloody secrets? What's worth dyin' for on this Godforsaken weed-patch?!"

The Colonel made a faint sound, but a change had overtaken his prone form. He fell back limply as Demoman released him, and made no further movements. Demoman growled in frustration and rose to his feet, then backed towards his teammate. Through the darkness came Soldier's voice, hoarse with pain and suspicion. "He's dead, isn't he? Crazy son of a bitch..."

Demoman's frustration was urging at him to assault the Colonel further, as if desecrating a corpse might bring forth some answers, but he wasn’t the Witch of Endor. The man who had killed so many mercenaries with such ease, and cheated death at the cost of Jane's life, was no longer a threat to the mission- or a source of knowledge about its true nature.

After staring at the body for a long moment, Demoman glanced back at Soldier and asked, "Can ye hang in there a moment? Ah'm goin' tae check his pockets."

There was no sudden movement from the corpse as Tavish kneeled, then began searching the dead man's clothes. The uncanny sense of foreboding had lifted from his psyche. Now he felt the natural unease of someone who has killed a dangerous animal, and is worried it might have one bite left for him. He found bottles of uppers and downers in the Colonel's pockets, along with an assortment of survival tools. No special key to his madness was there, no pocket diary filled with ravings nor a dog-eared copy of the Communist manifesto. Only one object among them seemed incongruous. In the man's breast pocket was a rolled-up belt of beaded fabric. A souvenir perhaps, now dull and tattered from its time spent in the filthy jungle.

(Bah, none of this tells me anything useful.) With no particular idea why, he stuffed the belt in his pocket next to the slain Demoman's insignia and rose to his feet. Although he was still angry at having another mystery dropped in his lap, he was also coming to terms with the Colonel's defeat... and more importantly, his own victory.

(I played that one brilliantly! He might have got the drop on me before, but I showed him how a highlander does it. It was the least I could do for the clansman he killed. You can rest now, lad, whoever you were...) The slain Demoman's memory troubled him, as well as Jane's sacrifice. Thoughts of the BLU Soldier roused a little optimism in his chest, though. All of the RED and BLU mercenaries the Colonel had killed were restored now, no doubt scrambling to secure transport back to the Caribbean. (The show must go on...)

Turning to face Soldier, Demoman shone some light on the wounded American. "Think ye can walk, mate?"

Soldier glared indignantly at his teammate. "Of course I can walk, Cyclops! Why wouldn't I be able to?! I'm in perfect shape!" He rose up defiantly, then wavered and clutched the wall for support, gritting his teeth.

Fishing his dwindling supply of liquor out, Demoman took another slug of rum, and gave a satisfied sigh as heat ran through his weary limbs. "Well, we've still got tae find the others, and neither of us are gettin' any younger. Are ye certain you'll keep up with me on yer own, or will y'get down off your bloody high horse and let me give ye a hand?"

"Shit," Soldier groaned, and allowed Demoman to move into a supportive position. He was never eager to admit he was injured, let alone accept someone's help. Once the Scotsman had an arm across Soldier's back, they considered their next goal.

"Alright, we're in a bit of a bind. Ah dinnae know if that daft bugger was just babbling, but those gunshots we heard earlier were real as rain. Do ye reckon you'll be any good in a fight?" Demoman didn't want to abandon his teammate, even if their progress would be slower as a result. The situation elsewhere on the plantation was anyone's guess, but all was quiet, so he knew that they weren't missing out on a firefight.

Soldier seemed to feel the same. "We're closer to the heat than we are to Engie's gear. I say we continue the charge where we left off. There's more of these bastards around here, and someone's got to kill them! What's the best route out of here?"

"How in the blazes am Ah supposed tae know? This place is a bloody wreck, and—" For some inexplicable reason, Soldier seemed adamant that Demoman possessed an instinctive understanding of spooky mansions and castles. He didn't mull on it for more than a second, though. Gut instinct would just have to suffice in guiding them from the premises. "Bah, let's just go this way."

With one hand around a flashlight and the other on his teammate, Demoman led the two REDs down the staircase. The floodlight revealed an exit on the far side of the toppled bookshelves, so they moved around the edge of the destruction and left the great library to its single patron. The Colonel's life was a mystery that would probably never be uncovered, but his end brought peace to everyone he had attacked and killed. Death was what he wanted the most, and by crossing Tavish DeGroot, he had finally received his heart's desire.

______________________

For those mercenaries on the island who weren't in immediate danger, it seemed that having a moment's peace could be troublesome in other ways. Engineer's hike from the manor to the mess-hall had been sheer agony, draining every ounce of stamina he had left. Now that he was seated beside his ramshackle dispenser, with the soothing red plume to ease his physical pain, he found himself suffering another sort of discomfort.

"I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do," he muttered, setting down his shotgun and slouching back against a rickety folding chair. If Engineer had been certain of everything he was feeling, he wouldn't have any better a plan for the future than he did now. His mind was awash with confusion over what had happened, and what he had done. He and Sniper were something closer than friends, something more like lovers. That was undeniable. And Soldier... his feelings for Soldier were a little stronger than platonic. But could he fool around with two people, let alone two men? Should he? Would this break Sniper's heart if it was revealed, or ruin what he had with Soldier? Engineer's efforts to explain the day's events—and rationalize his actions—dissolved into a whirling mess of emotional uncertainty.

Engineer rubbed his eyelids for a moment and sighed. He realized that if anything was going to come of the incident, it wouldn't be in the next five minutes. Moping wouldn't change anything. He groaned and sagged his shoulders, listlessly peeling the gauze from his mended leg.

A crash came from the direction of the bombed-out wall, loud enough to be heard over the healing machine. Engineer promptly put aside his guilt for later. Lifting the shotgun, he wobbled to his feet and aimed his electric torch towards the debris, where the intruder had fallen. "Who's there?! Put yer hands up right now, God-dammit, or I'll blow yer brains out the back side 'a yer head!"

Before he could totally understand what was there, Engineer heard a weird sound from the shape on the ground. It was sort of a desperate, muffled scream. A moment later the shadow wriggled to an upright position, and he realized he was seeing a young man, kneeling and bound with duct tape. The youth stared at him with wide-eyed horror and vigorously shook his head of dark, greasy hair.

For a split second, Engineer felt a mix of amazement and heart wrenching pity for this hapless person. Then he remembered what his team was dealing with. There were no innocent bystanders stumbling through this warzone, and this boy could only be a Scout belonging to this renegade group. Shotgun in hand, Engineer left his light pointing on the scene and approached the newcomer.

He loomed over his prisoner, smiling faintly, feeling more than a little gratified by the terror he was inspiring. "Well now, what brings you here, boy? Ya lookin' for someone else? ...you can nod, y'know. I ain't takin' that tape off yer mouth until I've got a reason."

The kid looked at Engineer, then at the shotgun and the prosthesis that held it. He swallowed audibly, and bobbed his head nervously. The Texan chuckled. "I reckon you weren't expectin' to run into me, were ya?"

More head-bobbing. His eyes screwed up as he nodded, and fresh tears cleaned some of the dirt from his face.

Engineer had no immediate plan to kill the young man, but he decided to leave that information up in the air. He jiggled his shotgun a little, then grasped it comfortably. "Were you on the run from anyone, boy? Maybe some RED fellas?"

That was a "no". The kid's face twitched at mention of RED mercenaries, though. Engineer frowned, scratching his chin with his free hand and studying the youth more closely.

He wore plain shorts and a t-shirt that were stained with blood, mud and cobwebs. His tennis shoes were standard issue for a RED scout. The only wounds on him were fresh, probably incurred from traversing the grounds with duct tape around his knees. Higher up, his arms were affixed to his body, and more tape was balled over his right hand. The left one was gone, though- all that remained was a stump below the elbow. Engineer snatched up his dog-tags on a whim, and grinned. The word "Scout" had been scraped off, and on the reverse, someone had clumsily engraved the name "ANDY".

"So you're Andy, huh? Well, Andy, I'm sure you know a lot more about what's goin' on here than I do. I'm also sure that the moment I take that tape off yer mouth, you're gonna start cussin' up a blue streak and generally not sayin' anything useful ta me. So I think I'm gonna keep you nice and quiet fer now."

The boy only glared as his name was discovered, but he began shaking his head and bleating desperately when Engineer threatened to leave the tape on.

Regretting that it was too dark to keep his eyes concealed behind goggles, Engineer arched an eyebrow dramatically. "What was that, boy? Are you sayin' you'll answer my questions and mind yer language if I let ya talk? It'd be a shame if you said somethin' I'd hafta kill you for, but if you're on yer best behaviour..." Andy nodded eagerly, giving Engineer what was probably the most appealing look he was capable of.

Somewhere deep down, the Texan was prepared to regret this decision. There was more duct tape in his toolbox to correct things, if it came to that. He hauled Andy up to a standing position, then tore the lid off the boy's mouth.

"Ow, fuck!" Andy yelped, then gave a louder cry of pain as Engineer cuffed him upside the head. He staggered back, spitting obscenities and nearly tripping over some debris. The older man caught him and gave his shoulder an uncomfortable squeeze.

"Were you listening to me? I said it'll be a shame if I hafta kill ya, but it's somethin' I could manage." Engineer wasn't particularly surprised by the turn this was taking. With his shotgun propped against his hip, he gave Andy a look of deadly calm. "Now, are you gonna mind yer Ps and Qs, or will I be sendin' you home to yer momma in a pine box?"

Andy's face went pale, and he suddenly sagged in Engineer's grasp, groaning quietly as he was lowered to his knees. When he found his voice again, he mumbled, "Sorry... sorry, sorry."

"You just get yer act together, and get ready for some walkin'. My teammates are somewhere in that death-trap you fellas call a base, and we're gonna go find them." His time under the healing ray had restored a little of Engineer's patience along with his health, but he wasn't prepared to go easy on the kid. Considering the circumstances, his shotgun would be a better negotiating tool than kind words. Those could wait until the fighting was over.

Out of the blue, Andy spoke. "They're in the greenhouse."

"What?" Engineer was caught off-guard. He tried to make sense of these words, to figure out if it was a lie.

Andy looked sullenly at the floor, and elaborated on his story. "The greenhouse at the back of the mansion? That's where they were gonna go. They probably wanna kill Tex. The Australian guy told me to split. He said the rest of his team would kill me if they found me."

(Sniper's survived this long? He's still here?!) Engineer's heart seemed to skip a beat. He thanked the powers that be for the darkness; his face was undoubtedly turning a little red at this news. After a few stuttering false starts, he realized it would be best to share as little as possible with the renegade. "Well then, it looks like we're goin' there first. ...on yer feet, boy."

As Andy struggled to rise, Engineer dashed back to his toolbox and retrieved the duct tape. After stuffing that in a pack, he took his flashlight as well and returned to the prisoner. "We ain't in no hurry here, so you're gonna lead the way for me. As long as you mind yer manners and remember who's in charge, I won't have any reason to play rough."

"Don't kill me," Andy mumbled, cringing as Engineer's shotgun jabbed the small of his back. They started from the mess hall, moving at the bound scout's pace. "I'll sing for you, j-just don't kill me..."

Although he was desperate to know about Sniper's condition—not to mention, the condition of everyone else who was with the sharpshooter—Engineer decided to pry for some strategic information first. "Alright, how's about ya explain what's going on here? You can start by tellin' me how many of you folks are left."

As the two mercenaries travelled once more along that darkened road, the jungle night deepened all around them. For all Engineer knew, his captive bird was spinning a long string lies, but Andy's unfolding story corroborated with everything he knew. By the time they reached the massive building his mind was abuzz with questions, and more than a little pique for the people who dropped him and his teammates in the middle of all this.

Overpowering that, however, was Engineer's curiosity. After very carefully making his way in through the broken window, he dragged Andy in after him, then set the boy on his feet and asked, "Why don't y'tell me everything you know about that door you mentioned?" Something caused the Scout to cringe. His expression, maybe? He knew he could get carried away sometimes. But Andy clearly didn't understand the meaning of the graven letters he had described- "R.C."

Engineer did. He was consumed with desire again, and this time, it was the kind that had never left him hurt and confused.

Tavish is awesome. Oh yes, yes he is.


I'm curious to see Engie's reaction when he finds that the Spy with Sniper is the BLU one. Snipers and Spies have a well-known rivalry, but I'd say Engie players hate enemy Spies even more. It's no coincidence the Itsy Bitsy Spyer was originally an Engineer-only misc. More "Enemy Mine", yay!

This fic is bloody fantastic.

Hehe, thanks! It might sound goopy, but knowing there are people out there who are enjoying this stuff is one of the things motivating me to press onwards. (That and, among things, bloody-minded stubbornness).

Have an update! This one first touches on Spy, then it's back to the gang on the island...
________________________________

Fifteen minutes after touchdown, RED Spy had navigated customs like a swift specter and was riding what passed as public transit in the lesser Antilles. It was a shabby van, worse than his Sniper’s own vehicle, but it would have to do. Even he would admit that the narrow mountain roads and colonial-era settlements of the Caribbean nation made limousines and buses a tricky prospect. On reaching the hotel that served as his team's mission control, he paid off the driver in American currency, then hurried to the back lot where the helicopters were.

He was startled to see a large vehicle in the lot, refueling alongside a single RED Team Huey. The newcomer was a sleek aircraft, painted in dark purple and accented with white racing stripes. Twin jet engines in free-moving nacelles powered the beast. Spy was no mechanical genius, but he assumed they could be tilted for vertical or horizontal thrust, which would explain how the plane had wound up in a secluded parking lot. Just studying it sent an uncomfortable twinge down his spine. (My God, it can't be...)

During the trip, Spy had entertained thoughts of checking the penthouse where the others might have left information on their plans. This discovery threw everything out the window, though. Moving as fast as he could without running, he crossed the lot to where the vehicles were and began looking for someone with answers.

Deep down, there was really only one person who fit that description. Swallowing his pride and his natural fear of dismemberment, he strode right past the jet's ground crew and up its aluminum gangway, then tested the door.

(Damn, it's locked.) Ignoring the men below who were beginning to give him suspicious looks, Spy sighed and resorted to knocking. At length, the door was answered by a dark-haired woman and her handgun. She looked surprised to see him. Feeling reluctant to take another bullet, Spy sought to disarm her with his usual charm. "Ah, Miss Pauling! It is wonderful to see you on zis fine evening, ma cherie. Whatever brings you 'ere? ...and your boss, I presume?"

Miss Pauling turned a little pink and managed sort of a smile. She lowered the gun, but didn't holster it just yet. "Oh, I- well, it- it's Mann Company business. Mister Hale is busy in Canada right now, taking part in the Annual Toronto Polar Bear Hunt, so the Administrator came as a representative of the company..."

From somewhere out of view, Spy heard a sharp and disapproving sound of throat-clearing. "Miss Pauling, don't tell the man anything he doesn't need to know. Spy, I would order you shot for this intrusion if I weren't too busy to have my aircraft cleaned."

A long moment passed where he and the younger woman stood in place, unmoving. As a matter of fact, Spy was certain Miss Pauling wasn't breathing, either. At length, the Administrator gave a disgusted sigh that was audible from the doorway. "Considering the changes that have taken place in the field, I suppose he ought to receive a copy of the mercenaries' revised orders. Miss Pauling, give him the file."

"Please wait here a moment, sir." Miss Pauling turned her attention to Spy for a second, just long enough to give him a pleading look. He knew that one. That was her "please don't make me shoot you" look. Then she disappeared into the airplane. Although he was severely tempted to cloak himself and sneak inside, Spy knew he'd never get away with it.

At least the Administrator ran a tight ship. Spy only waited a few seconds before Miss Pauling returned with a manila folder, and handed it over. "Thank you ever so much, mademoiselle," he purred. "Do give my regards to our lovely and gracious Administrator."

She smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the Administrator. "You're not being paid to insult my intelligence with meaningless words, Spy. You have your new orders. Miss Pauling, close the cabin door."

Spy took a step back, and saved the end of his nose from being smashed by the door. Concealing his weariness, he adopted a confident posture and made his way from the jet, waiting until he was well away from the fuel lines before lighting a fresh cigarette. With his nicotine levels returning to normal, he turned to his next important task.

In the shelter of the machine shop's doorway, Spy began to read his new orders. When he opened the folder, his first impulse was to return to the jet and start looking for the means to sneak on board. His mouth drew itself into a thin, frustrated line, and he cursed under his breath. The message read:

TF INDUSTRIES EXECUTIVE ORDER - LEVEL A

AS OF 2200 HOURS A.S.T., ALL RED AND BLU UNITS IN THE CARIBBEAN ARE ORDERED TO CEASE FIRE AND HOLD POSITION UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE FROM THE ADMINISTRATOR'S OFFICE. RED AND BLU HELICOPTERS WILL REMAIN GROUNDED AT THIS TIME. THESE ORDERS WILL BE RELAYED TO ALL FORCES A.S.A.P.

ANY MERCENARIES ENGAGING IN HOSTILITIES WITH ONE ANOTHER IN KNOWLEDGABLE VIOLATION OF THIS DIRECTIVE WILL BE SUBJECT TO EXTREME DISCIPLINARY MEASURES, UP TO AND INCLUDING TERMINATION. DISMISSAL OF CONTRACT MAY ALSO BE CONSIDERED.

"Shit!" Spy hissed, re-reading the words a few times for good measure. They were enlightening, at least. More so in regards to what he could glean from them, than what was openly said. (There's only one reason I can think of that we would be ordered to stop fighting each other: she must be preparing to move in. Could the men who turned traitor be dead now? I would assume as much, given this turn of events. Anyone who wound up in respawn won't be getting back there soon... I wonder if my teammates were able to claim the prize, or if the BLUs managed to make a comeback?)

Over by the Administrator's jet, Spy could see the ground crew milling about. Schemes for infiltrating the craft whirled like dead leaves in his mind, but he dismissed them as overly risky. He was confident that lives didn't depend on him, even though remaining at mission control made him angrier than he would have liked.(There is simply no way I can go there now. No way that wouldn't get me fired, or worse.)

The thought of staggering to his hotel room and catching up on sleep was attractive to Spy, but even in his current state of exhaustion, he knew he wouldn't find rest. There were too many unanswered questions on his mind. He decided instead to risk the cantina, then see what information he might find in the team's penthouse suite. Between the teletype and the phone, he could find out how many of his teammates were still in the field, and what the chances were that they had secured the Administrator's property.

Whatever the hell that was.
_______________________________

Standing in the conservatory's open doorway, Scout was feeling unnerved. A night breeze rushed past him into the glass enclosure, needed by the men inside its walls to cool the choking atmosphere. Sweat was creeping down his whole body. As he peered into the darkness beyond the reach of those sweltering lamps, it was hard to suppress his fear of the unknown. He knew there were eyes on him. Sniper was diligently watching, given that the man had refused to let Scout leave his sight. The shadows of the manor's overgrown garden seemed to stare as well, filling Scout with more self-conscious dread than he would have felt if a whole crowd of snipers was examining his every move.

The Australian's hoarse drawl erupted from somewhere behind him, breaking his concentration. "For Christ's sake, would you hurry up and get back here?"

Scout grimaced. This was no place to be taking a leak. Glancing back over his shoulder, he exclaimed, "Sh-shut up! I know you're happy pissin' all over the place, but normal people need a little peace an' quiet for this! It ain't like we've got somewhere else ta be." Doing his best to ignore the sensation that a thousand cameras were aimed at him, he waited for a lull in the wind. It was awkward enough to stand in plain sight, with a gun in one hand and his dick in the other. The last thing he wanted right now was to piss all over his shoes because of a badly timed breeze.

(I could get stabbed in the back over here,) he thought dismally. Could the BLU Spy be right behind him at this very moment? Would Sniper be able to pick the guy off if he suddenly decloaked? Scout realized his teammate would have to be pointing a gun at his back for that. None of these thoughts made it any easier to do what he came for. Knowing that he had no other way to do this, Scout tried to clear his mind of all but the most encouraging images. (Come on, I've gotta get this over with. Think, stupid! Rain spouts, rivers, waterfalls, fuckin' fire hoses...) As his mind shifted to neutral gear, Scout could finally get down to business.

He was finished and doing up his fly when he heard sounds coming from the thick foliage that surrounded on him on every side. His blood ran cold. Before he even had time to start analyzing what he'd heard, the youth gave a whoop of panic and scrambled back into the conservatory, ducking down beside the open door with his gun ready.

On the other side of the room, Sniper had reacted instantly. He was crouched down now, rifle in hand, squinting at the darkness outside. "What is it? Who's there?" he hissed.

"I- I dunno, I heard somethin'! There's people out there, or—or—" Scout suddenly felt uncertain. Were there other large animals on the island? He should have asked beforehand. More noises came from outside, rustling foliage and the scuffing of shoes. Muttered conversation came to his ears; the words were unclear, but they sounded tense, even aggressive. "I can hear 'em comin' through the bushes."

Throughout all this, Tex worked on at the mainframe's console, ignoring the heat and danger around him. With machines running in either direction, maybe it was just too noisy over there for him to hear anything else. Either that, or the man was thoroughly entranced with his work.

Sniper growled, creeping over to join his teammate. He crouched alongside a table, his sharp eyes flickering back and forth in search of the approaching group. Then, to Scout's surprise, he shouted at the intruders. "Who's there?! I know you're headed this way. Ya'd best speak up before I start shooting!"

A beam of light pierced the foliage, streaking across Sniper's face. Someone answered from the shadows. "Sniper?! Izzat you, stretch?" It was the RED team's Engineer, of all people.

Scout and Sniper stared in the direction his voice had come from, eyes wide with shock. In his typical eloquent style, the youth blurted out, "Holy shit! Get in here, man!" Scout saw two shapes move past the window. There were quiet sounds of scuffling and an angry grunt, then someone he'd hoped to never see again came staggering through the door, propelled by a boot to the backside. Rising from the floor, he groaned angrily. "Aww, fuck. What the hell are you doing here, Andy?"

Andy glowered and opened his mouth, but was menaced by Engineer's free hand and clammed up. Sniper moved up between them. His heart gave a painful contraction, then he wrapped his long arms around the Texan, squeezing him tightly. It was surprising to see such a display of emotion from the sharpshooter. The only sober person Scout had ever seen greet a teammate that way was Heavy. Engineer had a shotgun in his creepy robot hand hand, but he reached up and patted Sniper's back with the real one, murmuring to his friend in a tone of relief. When they parted from their embrace, the taller man was bit teary-eyed.

Feeling weirdly embarrassed, Scout looked away from the scene. (He must have been freaked out, too. Maybe he was just holding it inside until now. It’s probably normal to crack a little, when you've been through so much in one day.) As his eyes began stinging, Scout winced and tried to think of manlier things.

Engineer gave a strange laugh. "How long've ya folks been standin' around in this furnace? Ya smell pretty terrible, if you don't mind me sayin'.” He paused, staring at Sniper’s thin lips. There was a long moment where the two men gazed at one another, seemingly on the verge of doing or saying something, yet holding back. Then Engineer broke the spell with a regretful sound, shaking his head as if it were a struggle to keep it in the present. “Ya look parched. Here, have some water... Where'd Spy creep off to?"

Scout looked back to see Sniper drinking from a metal flask. When he was finished, he pushed it into the boy's hands and panted breathlessly. Realizing how close he was to suffering heat exhaustion, Scout drank deeply as well, and let his travelling companion do the talking. Even the canteen was cool to the touch, and the water inside was wonderfully cold.

Sniper wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "You're a lifesaver, mate. Ah God, I needed that... I'm not sure where to begin with everything that's happened. It's a long story. Spy's been gone since the morning. He got himself mangled saving my skin." He was quiet, his expression troubled. Questions came faster to him than answers though, and he perked up after a moment. "But what about you and the others? Were the rest of the choppers able ta make it safely? And how'd ya get here, did that loudmouthed runt lead you to us?"

"I reckon that's too long a story for me ta sum it up in a few words, too," Engineer sighed. His eyes were suddenly on Scout, cool and stern. "You should’ve given Medic and Heavy a little more warning before you ran off, boy. They were in dire straits when we found 'em."

It would have been easier to make a rude retort if someone was yelling at him, but Scout had a hard time finding words to justify his actions. Before he had a chance to put his foot in his mouth, Andy cut in. "Hey, did that BLU motherfucker get himself bumped off?"

Engineer raised a hand to silence the older boy, then stopped dead. "Wait, who? I thought we killed all of them."

"Dere's a reason I'm laying low," grunted an irate voice that seemed to come out of nowhere. He was probably hunkered down behind cover, where even the faint mirage of his cloaked body would be hidden. On hearing him, Sniper frowned at the mostly empty space.

Engineer bristled with anger and confusion. "What're ya doin' here, ya son of a bitch?"

"I don't think he'd be foolhardy enough to try jumping us now. Scout's got his gun, and he's outnumbered." The Australian eyed the room warily for a moment, then groaned and rubbed his forehead. "We were, uh, sort of cooperating."

"What?!" Engineer was aghast at the news. There was marked frustration in his tone. Scout didn't see him show his mean streak very often, and it was a little worrisome.

Sniper was eager to smooth things out. He hastened to explain himself. "It's not like I was keen on the idea, but we... Ya must've run into some of the other men here, right? He had us at gunpoint, and... here, I'll take it from the top."

"I'm listenin'," the mechanic growled, preserving his furious expression for the time being.

BLU Spy must be having fun, first with RED Sniper and now RED Engineer, the two people he likely has to fight against the most in regular battle.

As much as everyone else worries about him backstabbing them, BLU Spy is probably concerned about the REDs turning on him as well.

Yeah, I'm quite liking the different perspectives. Sniper is all "surely BLU Spy is secretly plotting against us!" and, in that one chapter from his pov, BLU Spy is all "as soon as I've outlived my usefulness they'll turn on me!"

Everybody is (understandably) worried about being betrayed, yet so far their only thoughts about being the betrayer are in self-defence. I like how none of them is as bad as the others assume.

As BLU Spy says, there's a reason he's laying low. He's just trying to be the last one standing- or barring that, one of the last ones standing. For all he knows, the murderous punk and the piss-throwing assassin could turn on him at any moment. In a way, their paranoia about being attacked by one another has kept any of them from doing anything too suspicious.

I'd considered killing BLU Spy off a couple times, but it seemed sad to reduce his life to the punchline of a comic scene, or make him "the guy who dies to prove the situation is serious". Ultimately he, RED Sniper and RED Scout survived through working together, and with the turn things are taking, they'll probably live and let live for now.

Unless the right opportunity presents itself.

______________________________________

As Sniper explained their situation, the group settled down near the door. A breeze kept the temperature from becoming utterly intolerable. There wasn't much to the story that Scout hadn't personally experienced, although he made a mental note to needle RED Spy for being disarmed while asleep. Around the time that the Australian began describing their first visit to the conservatory, Engineer sprang to his feet, as though he were suddenly remembering something important.

"Wait just a darned minute. Is that it over there? The Conagher door?" He pointed towards the alcove, as if noticing it for the first time. Before anyone could answer, Engineer was already running off with manic fervor, leaving his teammates to stare in confusion.

"Hold on! There's still—" Sniper took off after him, yelling broken warnings about Tex. The two engineers spotted each other and a loud discussion ensued, but Scout couldn't hear all of it for the machinery.

Andy tentatively started to follow, and the RED Scout felt a jolt of something that was sort of like concern. "You know that Tex guy's crazy as a shithouse rat, right? He shot your Medic when we got here. He'll probably waste you too, if he notices you're still alive."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about, fa—holy shit, is that Ruprecht?!" Horror crept over Andy's face as he spotted the doctor's body, stiffening in a puddle of congealed blood. Ruprecht's expression spoke volumes about the moment of his demise, his mouth and eyes gaping in a permanent look of betrayal.

Letting out a sound that was somewhere between sobbing and retching, Andy turned away from the scene and sank to his knees. Scout couldn’t restrain himself from laughing sadistically at his counterpart's distress. He held Engineer's canteen close and watched the others, waiting to see if gunfire would break out.

An ear-splitting screech cut through the air, like a bandsaw hitting a nail. Scout felt his heart jerk painfully. He flew up off the floor, looking around in a panic. His alarm turned to disbelief when the feedback was followed by a woman's voice—one that was cold, crisp and formal.

Spoken demands were coming from above his head, like a malevolent goddess was rebuking him. "For those of you who may have forgotten whom I am, this is your Administrator speaking. I have just confirmed that all hostile units on the plantation are neutralized. A cessation of combat between RED and BLU forces was ordered two and a half hours ago. As I have my personal operatives moving into the area right now, I expect you all to follow this directive. Disobey me and your lives will come to a violent end, as well as your careers."

The P.A. system hadn't been removed from the island... among things. What other devices might still be around, extending Her voice and senses to this remote place? Scout forgot his earlier caution and hurried to join his teammates, dragging Andy behind him. "How does she know all this shit?" he asked once he knew he was in earshot of the other men. Engineer was the first person he would have questioned, but his egghead was down by the sealed door, fawning over it.

Tex was the one who answered, not bothering to looking up from his work. "Respawn'll still catch y'all out here. Think that's the only thing with a long reach? A lot of the equipment from before got fried, but there's working sensors, a few cameras in the old bases. Enough for her ta know who's alive and who's dead, including my team. Figures they'd cut us off from respawn, but still wanna keep tabs on who still has a pulse. We probably all have trackin’ chips implanted in us, or somethin'." He glanced over his shoulder for a second, an enigmatic look on his face. "I reckon the message I just sent must've been the last thing she was waitin' for."

Scout said the first thing that came to mind. "What'd you tell her?"

The maverick's demeanor unnerved Scout, and he wasn't alone. Andy was regarding Tex with fear. Sniper was standing in the wings with a very large knife, his body tensed like a sprinter at the starting line. Apparently ignorant of all this, Tex had busied himself with the mainframe, which was emitting a printed strip of paper. "Two things. First, that I'm ready ta pop the cork on this thing. Second, that Andy's been located, and won't be causin' any trouble for anyone. Now, if you'll step aside for a moment..."

This day was turning out to be one of endless new experiences for Scout. Tex had his hands on his murderous revolver, its muzzle pointed towards his last teammate. An overwhelming wave of guilt swept over Scout. He felt compelled to stand between Andy and mortal danger. There was no doubt in either boy's mind as to what the rogue Engineer was preparing to do. Choking back an anxious knot in his throat, he stuttered, "F-for God's sake, he's your fuckin' teammate! We've got him tied up. He ain't goin' anywhere. Just let the company decide what to do with him!"

Had he been alone, Scout realized, it wasn't likely he could have dissuaded Tex from killing his cowering counterpart. Not while his own weapon was stuffed into the back of his waistband, at any rate. But Sniper was prowling nearby, ready to throw his weight around if things got dicey. Tex must have had the same thought, because he took the time to eyeball Sniper as he turned away from the mainframe. Tex was fairly burly, but days on end spent in this room had taken a toll on his health. Sniper loomed over him, and had only spent two days running on fumes. If it came down to a quick-draw, Sniper would slit Tex's throat before he could pull his Colt SAA on the two Scouts.

That was the highest probability outcome. Tex smoothly lifted his hand away from his holster, and regarded the men around him with inscrutable dark lenses. "Well, ah reckon they'll kill him eventually. I ain’t gonna waste the energy ta do it myself.” Tex turned his attention to the computer print-out, and the tension in the air waned.

"I think we oughta go wait by the exit," Scout said, feeling his nerves settle down. He could see that Sniper was itching to get away from there as well, but something was making the Australian hesitate.

Then he spoke. "Right, you take the other lad there. I'll be along once I've collected Truckie. He seems to have gone head-over-heels for that puzzle door." There was a weird anxiousness about his behavior that Scout couldn't quite identify, something in his voice and the way he gazed forlornly at their Texan teammate. The heat and noise in the area were enough to drive off all but the most determined, though, and the younger RED didn't feel compelled to linger.

While ushering Andy back to the door, Scout was startled to notice someone standing there. "Who the fuck-" he gasped. He had his hand on the back of his gun before he realized it was the lone BLU agent. Spy was watching him with feline calm. Scout was tempted to haul off and shoot the guy anyways. (On the other hand, that bitch threatened to kill anyone who breaks the ceasefire. She's pretty good at keeping promises like that. Even if that spy's a total asshole, he didn't try to shank us while he was hiding. Maybe he's braver than I thought...or maybe his invisibility watch broke.)

Scout found himself regretting his self-restraint when they got near. The Canadian's first words to him were, "Give back my gun."

"I dunno, man, I'm startin' to feel attached to this thing. It's cooler lookin' than my Walther. You can get a new one, can't ya?" He grinned, but Spy didn't seem to appreciate his sense of humor. After weathering the evil eye for a few seconds, Scout sighed and relinquished Spy's weapon. "Alright, alright. Fuck, you've gotta learn to lighten up."

BLU Spy tucked his Browning into the concealment holster strapped across his chest. The heat had finally forced him to abandon his pinstriped jacket, and Scout caught an unwanted glimpse of sweat-stained underarms on his white shirt. "I hope I don't have much reason to say dis, but don't try anyt'ing funny wit' me."

Being told what to do or not to do always grated at Scout. "Are you fuckin' deaf? The lady said horrible shit would happen if we went after each other right now. Me? I'm gonna take it easy over here where I won't die of heat stroke."

With that, Scout plunked himself down in the path of that night breeze, and groaned wearily. Andy had already sat on the floor, his back slouched against the wall. He seemed too scared and exhausted to give his captors any lip, which was alright by Scout. Under normal circumstances, neither boy would have been satisfied sitting still for long, but little about the present situation was normal.

As Scout lazily watched the twisting smoke plume from Spy's cigarette, a distant mechanical screech caught his ear. "Hey... does that sound like a jet goin' overhead? I thought people didn't fly around here. Something’s kinda Bermuda Triangle bullshitty about this place...”

Edge. Of. My. Seat.

I'm with Anon 181. If I scoot forward any further my ass will meet the floor at a rapid speed.

Boom! Here's some more for y'all. This would have been up sooner, but Eastlink is having one of its annual drives to piss off its customers, and we didn't have phone, internet or TV here for the last 24 hours.
___________________________________

Despite being deep inside the mansion, Demoman and Soldier were close enough to a window that they heard the Administrator's message. Similarly, the aircraft was so loud that nobody could have missed its descent. Illuminating the ground below with floodlights, it circled the plantation in a manner far too slow for a regular jet. Engineer would have been fascinated by such an advanced piece of technology, if he hadn't been busy with the mystery door. As far as the other mercenaries were concerned, they might well have been seeing a goddamned UFO. Even Sniper forgot his self-imposed vigil and stared up through the glass ceiling, utterly confounded by the vehicle passing overhead.

When the aircraft came around for a second pass, it lit up the garden, revealing a swath of scorched earth between the manor and the burgeoning jungle. This had been visible by day, of course, but Sniper hadn't thought much of it at the time. Now a screaming beast of a machine was lowering itself down onto the impromptu landing pad, buffeting the conservatory with hurricane-force winds. The entire structure consisted of glass panes in a corroded metal frame, and the overgrown ivy did little to hold it all together. Sniper saw how the antique structure was rattling, and suddenly felt his stomach doing cartwheels.

Hoping desperately that he would be heard by the others, he raised his voice and bellowed, "Get the hell outta here, Scout! Spy! Move it!" A second later, he realized what he'd just said. (Wait, Spy? When did he stop hiding?) It didn't look BLU Spy and Scout had been fighting, at least. They were braced against one another, both struggling to stand fast against the gale. Then a window came loose and narrowly missed the Canadian, only to shatter against the floor and shower both men with razor-sharp fragments. Thoroughly spooked, they scrambled out into the yard and left Andy to cower under a table.

Glass sheets came flying at the room's remaining occupants, exploding like bombs as they struck machinery and the tile floor. Sniper would have taken cover as well and waited out the storm, but the third RED was still down by the sealed door, which wasn't completely out of harm's way. He couldn't abandon his friend.

Another window pane hit the computer and sent a burst of gleaming shrapnel at Sniper, but his reflexes were quicker. He reacted instantly, shielding his eyes with his left forearm and turning away. Dozens of vitreous fangs tore into him, and he hissed in pain, hoping that none of the bits had embedded themselves too deeply. With no time to lose, Sniper ran for the alcove. Even before he reached the bottom of the stairs, he knew something was wrong.

RED Engineer was curled up between the door and the wall, surrounded by broken glass and blood. A spasm of fear ran through Sniper's body, and he lunged down the last few steps to investigate. Then the sound of the Texan cursing reached his ears, and he realized things might not be as bad as they looked. He crouched down and draped himself over Engineer's back, trying to shield the smaller man from further injury. There was movement beneath him as his presence was noted, but before either mercenary could speak, something shattered overhead and rained debris onto Sniper. A blood-slicked hand clamped down onto one of his, squeezing desperately.

"Jumped-up Jesus Christ on a fire engine! What's happening out there?!" Engineer shouted. There was anger in his voice, but when he turned his head to look at Sniper, other emotions were clearly wrestling for control of his expression.

Up in the room behind them, sounds of flesh-rending peril were mellowing out into a more pedestrian sort of chaos. The pitch of the jet engines was changing, deepening. There was still enough of a gale coming into the conservatory to send bits of debris careening about the floor, but it seemed the threat had passed. Tex could be heard wrestling with something heavy and swearing, but the renegade was low on Sniper's list of concerns.

"Are you badly hurt?” Sniper began patting around Engineer’s body, trying to locate the bleeding areas with his hands. “Either a flying bloody saucer's landed outside, or it's the people our Administrator sent. There was... Christ, I don't know what sort of airplane that is, but it blew half the windows loose from this fucking place. Pretty sure you noticed that part."

"It’s okay! It’s okay. Just a small cut." Engineer smiled sheepishly, grabbing onto Sniper’s fussing mitts. "Funny how blood can get all over the place. What about you, Mundy? Think I'm seein' a couple pieces of glass in yer hair..."

"I reckon I've got a bit stuck in my scalp. Bah, I must look a proper mess right now. There's scratches all over me." Sniper gingerly tugged a shard from his left forearm, then his gaze met Engineer's. Pleasant emotions welled up inside his weary body, and he forgot the pain.

Ducking closer to the other man, he pressed a clumsy kiss against his lover's temple. It was a simple gesture, just a love token delivered on the sly. Engineer gave a soft murmur and wriggled around until he was facing Sniper, then wrapped his arms around the lanky gunman.

This affected Sniper in ways he never expected, as though a violent chemical reaction had taken place within him. He clutched at Engineer for support, suddenly trembling, his heart aching terribly. Every cell in his body screamed as though he were suffering some sort of drug withdrawal. Sniper was alone with Engineer for the first time in days, and his pent-up feelings of lust and tenderness were clawing to be let out of their cage.

The beast could not go free, not here or now. Sniper knew it. Engineer, whose expression had turned to desperate longing, knew it too. In a quiet voice he soothed the Australian, gently patting the small of his back. "There, now. I know what you're feeling, darlin'... Lord knows how bad I wanna' get away from here, and have some peace and quiet with you..."

"Yeah," Sniper muttered, smiling weakly. He rubbed warm tears from his cheek, leaving bloody streaks in their place. "Christ. When this is over, I- I don't know if the first thing I'll need is a good hard fuck or a long cry."

Engineer couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's words. "Whooo-ee... It's definitely been one of those missions, hasn't it?” He pushed a wayward strand of dark hair from his friend’s face. “We need a plan, right? How ‘bout this? We buy a couple six-packs from the canteen, then head on up ta my room and run a bath... yeahh, a cold beer and a hot bath, that sounds like a good start. Once we get to rubbin' each other, I'm gonna-”

The Administrator's voice intruded on their conversation, prompting both men to freeze. "I see that at least some of you oafs are capable of following my instructions. Excellent. Let's see your weapons now, shall we? Miss Pauling will take them, just to ensure nobody experiences a lapse of judgment." Something about her tone and volume was different this time. Sniper was shocked when he realized what had changed. This announcement hadn't been issued over the P.A. system- he was only hearing her from one direction.

"Jesus Christ, she's here!" he hissed. His mind boggled at what this could mean. The Administrator never deigned to appear in the field, after all.

A low whistle was the only sound from Engineer; clearly, he was thinking the same things as Sniper. Whatever secret lurked behind that door, it was going to be something big.


They reluctantly disentangled themselves and made their way back up the stairs, picking small shards of glass from their hides. The conservatory was blindingly bright, courtesy of the VTL jet's floodlights; Engineer pulled his goggles back on to get a better look around, but Sniper could only squint. (Scout made it out in one piece, he's got to be nearby. Where is that woman?) There was no doubt in his mind that the Administrator was taking control of the situation. It would have been a load off his back, but he was not the type to gladly leave his welfare in the hands of the authorities, especially when "the authorities" consisted of a chain-smoking megalomaniac.

The lights dimmed somewhat, and Sniper could finally make out his surroundings. It looked like a war zone. After surviving decades of neglect, the conservatory had been abruptly denuded of more than half its glass panes. This was actually a change for the better, aside from the murderous debris; a wonderful night breeze was sweeping into the room now, as a result of which the choking heat had lifted. Tex's sodium lamps had been ruined during the bombardment, as well as his mainframe, which contributed further to improving the atmosphere. (Too bad about all the bloody broken glass.)

Tex had survived, of course. He was clutching the computer's last print-off against his chest with a look of manic protectiveness. Sniper was more concerned with the people filing into the room. First came the Administrator, accompanied by Miss Pauling and a group of burly men in black riot armor. They were her personal bodyguards, each one armed with a Mossberg 500. Scout and BLU Spy took up the rear; the former shuffled like a kid on the way to detention, while the latter moved with as much composure as could reasonably be expected of him. Being made to disarm had probably been a blow to their morale- Miss Pauling was now carrying Scout's Force-a-Nature, and her pockets bulged with more confiscated equipment.

"Think they want us to put our hands up?" Engineer muttered, then cackled a little too loudly. He and Sniper had too much dignity for that, obviously.

The Administrator must have known this as well. She cleared her throat pointedly, nodding to her assistant. "Your weapons, gentlemen? Hand them over. That includes you, Mister Tex."

Looking a tad nervous, Miss Pauling approached the men. Sniper wouldn't have harmed her, of course—not even to spite their employer—and he gave up his armaments with a rueful smirk. "Right, I know when ta stand down. Careful with that knife, miss. It was a present from one of my mates."

Next to disarm was Engineer, who even managed a touch of politeness for the tiny woman. He even gestured as if tipping his helmet, although it was missing from his head. Tex didn't seem nearly as eager to cooperate, but with so many guns aimed at him, there was nothing he could do but relinquish his Colt SAA. Miss Pauling returned to the Administrator's side, still fumbling to safely carry all of the guns and knives she'd been given.

"Take those weapons to the aircraft before you drop them, Miss Pauling," the older woman said tersely. Then she smiled ever so faintly, and turned her attention to the remaining mercenaries. "Now that I know you'll be on your best behavior, I want all of you trained monkeys to wait outside. I'll deal with you shortly... Mister Tex, you may now open the vault for us. I wish to assess its contents and see how it compares to Mann Company records."

"Wait a damn minute!" Engineer blurted. Everyone stopped in their tracks and stared at him. He had the expression of a child who had just been told Christmas was canceled. "We've been through ten different kinds of hell today, and it was all because of that locked door! I don't care about the monetary value of whatever's inside there, but I damn-well wanna see what it is! Besides, if old man Conagher left some of his work in that vault, you're gonna need all the help you can get in understanding it!"

Behind the group of bodyguards, Sniper could see his youngest teammate staring in disbelief. Scout was probably amazed to see the soft-spoken Texan raising a fuss. It wasn't such a surprise for the sharpshooter, who had more experience with the nuances of Engineer's personality. Another man might have been silenced by the Administrator's withering glare, but the RED team's mechanic could be fantastically stubborn, particularly when being denied something he believed he had rights to. The one thing in the world that inspired mania within him was knowledge.

It was times like this that he seemed less like a warm, friendly little cowpoke, and more like a mad scientist. After all, knowledge was power in the right hands. More than anyone else on the team, Engineer had the know-how and the inclination to turn knowledge into something dangerous.

The silence that followed was deafening. Sniper felt anxiety gnaw at him while he glanced between his friend and the woman in charge. Despite the gang of armed men who could be ordered to attack at any moment, Engineer's determined countenance did not recede. Somewhere deep inside, Sniper found himself hoping the Texan would back down, and grimaced at the sense of betrayal this brought him. (No, I can't tell him to forget about this. He obviously feels that it's bloody important. I have to stand by his side and just hope that woman doesn't decide to have him gunned down.)

A queer expression had taken hold of the Administrator's face. Much to the group’s surprise, she smirked. "Very well. You may accompany us. Given your background and education, I'm confident that you are smart enough to keep your hands off the merchandise unless I tell you otherwise."

Relief wafted over Sniper like a cool breeze. (That went better than I expected.) He patted his teammate's shoulder, which earned him a goofy grin. Engineer didn't go do far as to dance for joy, but he was clearly happy to have his way. On the other hand, Tex seemed less than ecstatic to have a second mechanic along for the ride.

As the Administrator's entourage set off for their prize, the remaining mercenaries shuffled out into the garden. Sniper sat down near the aircraft, where the lights were strong enough to work by. He fished through his rucksack for tweezers and cigarettes. Scout joined him, flopping down on the grass and curling up in the hopes of catching some much-needed rest. With an attitude of trepidation, Andy eventually crept from the shadows and settled nearby. The BLU agent kept to himself, though, and remained close to the door.

An indeterminable stretch of time passed, in which Sniper picked his hide free of glass and smoked in peace. Once or twice, he saw Miss Pauling watching them from the jet's open hatch. At some point, Scout started to whimper unconsciously. Sniper moved closer and placed a calming hand on the boy's shoulder, murmuring, "It's over... Easy now. You just rest, mate." The marksman didn't know if Scout was awake to any extent, but he wriggled up against his older teammate and finally relaxed a bit. On his other side, Andy could be heard snoring.

Sniper himself was drifting in and out, when a sharp sound caught his ear. Then another, and another. The noise wasn't loud, but even half asleep, he understood what it meant: trouble. Struggling to shake off his exhaustion, Sniper opened his eyes wide and turned them sharply towards the conservatory. His investigations revealed nothing. Everyone had descended the stairs in the alcove, and vanished into the manor's mysterious heart. He did see Spy, though, who was striding quickly towards the jet with a tense look on his face.

The Canadian craned his neck, and shouted to the aircraft's occupants. "Miss Pauling! Get out here, I know you can hear me!"

The two scouts began to stir, emitting groans of protest as they grimaced and blinked owlishly. Sniper was completely awake now. He crouched down by Andy and took out a small utility knife, then began cutting away the duct tape from the youth's right hand. As he did this, all of his attention was on the exchange between Spy and the bespectacled woman.

Without any explanation, she appeared by the hatch and threw something to Spy: his Cloak and Dagger. "You'll need this! Wait, I've got some more things. Are Sniper and those boys still here?" She didn't seem to be in a panic, but her tone hinted that she might be close to one. When Sniper paused his cutting and looked up, his gaze met hers. Then she disappeared again, presumably to retrieve their equipment.

"What the fuck?" Scout was on his feet now, fidgeting like a kid in a long bathroom queue. He gave Sniper a double-take. "Hey, are you sure about cuttin' him loose, man?"

"He owes us," Sniper grunted, peeling the last of the tape from Andy's remaining hand. The dark-haired lad was dumbstruck by this turn of events- or perhaps he was just keeping his mouth shut, so Sniper wouldn't have any reason to change mind. "Besides, we might need an extra body. Th' worst he might do is run off, and considering the Administrator and her posse are RIGHT HERE on this bloody island, he's probably figured out that he's safer with us."

Scout squinted his eyes. "Okay, I get that, but why are we f-"

"Scout!" Miss Pauling cut in, looking down on the group with a duffel bag in her arms. He perked up right away, flashing his most charming smile and smoothing his hair back. Before he could start hitting on her, she exclaimed, "Catch!", and threw the pack to him. "There are weapons in there for all of you!"

Spy cleared his throat audibly, an impatient frown tugging at his face. "I assume I wasn't just imagining t'ings when I heard guns going off inside da building?!"

"I don't know how it started, but that's right- sounds of gunfire came in over the radio, and I lost contact with the Administrator! I need you guys to investigate the situation. There's a new headset in there for Scout, I'll keep in touch through that. There could be casualties in there, so please! Hurry!"

"Alright," Andy said, a definite tremble in his voice. He couldn't use a scattergun, but the pack had an extra Shortstop for him. Looking up at Miss Pauling, he barked, "You guys better not kill me if I help save that Administrator broad, you got it?!"

"Stop yappin' and move, dumbass! We've got a job to do!" Scout grabbed Andy roughly by the shoulder and yanked him forwards. Both boys broke into a run, and Spy lunged after them, fiddling with his cloaking device. Sniper slung his rifle over his back and saluted Miss Pauling, who often seemed to be the mercenaries' only ally in the administration. Then he sprinted off towards the conservatory, anxious as to what he would find there.

The very moment that Sniper's catnap had been cut short by sounds of gunfire, turmoil began brewing in his mind. He knew it meant trouble for the people in the vault. Whatever had happened, his little group was all that remained- they were the only ones who could help. It was time to put on a professional's face and get back into the fray. But in the midst of this crisis, he was plagued by worries about Engineer, and thoughts that repeated like a broken record. (I should have told him to drop it, should have told him to back down and just stay with us.)

As he cautiously followed the others over a sea of broken glass, Sniper took a series of deep, quiet breaths. He knew that brooding would change nothing- he had to steel himself and push onwards, or his aching heart might bring him to a dead stop.

Oh my god. Shit is going down. What the hell is happening in there? I can't wait to find out!

Holy shit, I'm on the edge of my seat.

Brief update; this seemed like it would bog things down as the first half of a longer vignette, but after all the focus on this part of the mystery, I felt it would be a cop-out just to say "and then they opened the door and went in". The next part, obviously, will reveal what has gone down...
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Engineer knew full well that he was sticking his neck out when he demanded to accompany the Administrator's entourage to the sealed laboratory. His pulse was deafening as waited, watching the older woman's face for any sign that she was about to deliver her answer. Those big men with shotguns wouldn't have scared him if he and his teammates were armed too. At that moment, he found himself at their mercy. This fact did not sit well with him. Not that he showed it. His goggles were a godsend whenever psychological warfare was at hand.

Then the Administrator finally relented. "Very well.” Engineer's heart leaped in his ribcage; he'd honestly expected silence or lead pellets to be the only answer he'd get. A hand came down on his shoulder, and he half-turned to see Sniper there, with a very relieved expression on his face. Grinning wildly, Engineer gave his friend's hand a brief squeeze, then scurried off to join their Machiavellian overseer.

"Hey, Ah never asked ta have another engineer along. Why the hell don't Ah get a say in this?" Tex griped, frowning at his counterpart and the Administrator.

She sniffed irritably, giving the renegade a supercilious look. "You don't get a say because you're one of my employees. Have you forgotten our contract? It was a verbal one, mind you, but I recorded all of our conversations. You wanted re-admittance into TF Industries and a finder's reward.” She raised her eyebrows, her tone becoming sharper. “You struck a poor bargain, you know. A wise man would have pleaded for his life from me, especially a man who has betrayed my confidence. Consider your continued existence part of your benefits package.”

They were walking down the stairs now, the woman and the engineers in front, the cadre of bodyguards behind. Engineer could see some bloodstains on the landing left by himself and Sniper. He winced slightly. Beside him, Tex was moving his mouth as though trying to speak. If a response to the Administrator’s words had been forming in his mind, it never made it past his lips.

She smirked. "The door, Mister Tex?"

He jumped a bit. "Oh! Oh, right! Right." The filthy, grizzled little man produced a crumpled sheet of paper and unfolded it, then frowned pensively. Engineer craned his neck in the hopes of taking a peek, but Tex turned the sheet away, no doubt glaring behind his smudged goggles. "D'you know how much goddamn trouble Ah went through ta crack this code, boy?! I'll be the one ta open Conagher's lab, y'all just sit back and let me at it."

Engineer rolled his eyes, but gave the other man room. "Alright, you just cool off a little and remember what lead us all to this point. While you were in here with an air conditioner keepin' ya cool, and a computer—that's RED property, by the way—doin' your work, my friends and I were fightin' for our lives out in the middle that godforsaken jungle. So don't get all uppity with me about hard work, buddy."

Morose grumbling was the best Tex could do for a witty rejoinder. He took out a grease pencil, then began searching the door's myriad tiny panels for a starting place. As the moments ticked by, everyone's impatience began thickening, taking on a tangible presence in the air. The majority of it seemed to come from the Administrator.

She spoke in the tone of a nun preparing to strap a misbehaving child. "Do you even know what you're doing, Mister Tex? You informed me that you had cracked the code.” She glanced towards the RED engineer. “You. What do you make of this?"

As Engineer was about to speak, Tex growled, "Ah had it all worked out... ON THE COMPUTER! While you were comin' down in that manned tornado of yours, ya blew every friggin' window out of the conservatory, and ONE OF THEM went and busted MAH mainframe!" He was red in the face, seething with anger and embarrassment.

The Administrator didn’t have any sympathy for his predicament. "I am a very busy woman, and right now you're wasting my time. This is unacceptable. How much of the code do you have on hand? Do you even remember any part of the rest, or will I have to replace you with someone more competent?"

Tex placed the crumpled paper against the door and looked between the two, grating his teeth nervously. "Ah just need a couple minutes ta refresh my memory! It was two words. Most of it was in Roman characters, but I remember two were Cyrillic, and- and y'see that backwards 'S'? That's from the Metelko alphabet..."

Although he hadn't spent as much time studying this puzzle as the other man, Engineer now had the luxury of seeing it alongside the computer's partial decryption. Something about it nagged at him. "Now hold on a minute. Are you sure about that? Almost all the letters on there are laterally symmetrical. The only Cyrillic Ah’m seein' is 'Ya'—the 'R' that goes the wrong way. But what if it's just an 'R'? What if all the Roman letters are backwards?"

A quiet smile tugged at the Administrator's face, and Tex just gaped with indignant shock. "Are you suggestin' Ah coulda' overlooked somethin' that childish? What kind of moron would—" He grimaced all of a sudden, rubbing his greasy temples as he considered this possibility. "Aw, hell..."

Engineer felt like he was playing solitaire, and all the cards had started falling into place. His eyes darted back and forth across the engraved surface. Between the numbers and symbols and zodiac signs, a pattern started to emerge. In a dozen places around the board, he saw the same pairs of letters appear. (Reading from right to left, those are 'AU' and 'UM'. Now, that rings a bell... but if I'm looking for the words I think I'm looking for, how can I tell which pairs belong to the code?)

Tex was still feverishly examining his printed page when Engineer spotted the key to their problem. "I've got it! Y'see that symbol? The circle with a dot in the center? Look, it first appears as the second character in this note. Everywhere it shows up, there's a letter to the left. It represents the sun in astrology, but alchemists used a lot of the same marks. If we're talkin' chemistry here, then that one means gold..." Engineer paused to catch his breath, and realized he was grinning like a madman. It took all his self-control not to just start pressing buttons.

The Administrator must have been feeling indulgent, or impatient enough to give him a chance. "Go on, then."

Ignoring the furious expression on his counterpart's face, he set to work. The letters on the door said only nonsense to the average person, but Engineer was born left-handed, and his brain was wired to see things differently. Almost all of his life he’d had to work against his nature, just to get people off his back. Switching from his left hand to his right, sleeping at night and working during the day—anything unusual about himself he could hide and fake. Working backwards, thinking like a madman, Engineer knew how to see things like Radigan Conagher had. He reached over and tapped in the code:

MUILARTSUA MURUA

In other words:

AURUM AUSTRALIUM

("Southern gold"... or as most folks call it, "Australium".) A heavy, mechanical "thunk" sounded from somewhere inside the wall, and the barrier began to rise up out of the way. Everyone seemed breathe a sigh of relief, even Tex. On some level, Engineer wanted to punch the guy. (It's your neck on the line, buddy. You oughta be a little more grateful.)

"Excellent," the Administrator murmured, folding her hands together and watching as the room was unveiled before their eyes. "Now for the acid test... Gentlemen, tell us what this machinery does."

The letters on the door said only nonsense to the average person, but Engineer was born left-handed, and his brain was wired to see things differently. Almost all of his life he’d had to work against his nature, just to get people off his back. Switching from his left hand to his right, sleeping at night and working during the day—anything unusual about himself he could hide and fake. Working backwards, thinking like a madman, Engineer knew how to see things like Radigan Conagher had.

I really loved this part. A very nice bit of characterization.

>>187 You can thank my beta reader, DF38, for a lot of that paragraph. My original take on it had been kind of rambling, and I thought that really cleared it up!

And now, mad science.

Most of my cliffhangers are intentionally timed. In this case, though, think of this update as the first half of a longer chapter, rather than an entire chapter in and of itself. I get antsy when I go too long without posting, but I've still got to touch up the rest of this scene, gah. I cut things off where I did because it sort of passed as a halfway mark, and a hook for events to come. I'll probably delete this post and put the whole thing up when the rest of the scene is done.
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The archway opened into another world, a large chamber with a vaulted ceiling and many layers of beams, hooks and chain networks suspended overhead. Even after decades of abandonment, Radigan Conagher's machines were intact and clear of corrosion and filth. The layer of dust that one might have expected was conspicuously absent. There were shelves and tables heaped with paperwork, countless machining tools, and mysterious constructs with no clear purpose.

At the far end of the room stood the largest machine, which looked straight out of an old-time carnival. It was largely constructed of brass, insulated cables and hollow glass forms; nobody would have been surprised if it started playing a calliope tune. Engineer knew the famous inventor didn't build things for such frivolous reasons, though. He studied it for clues of its real function. At its heart was a giant electromagnetic armature, stood up on its end and enclosed by a cylindrical frame. On the outer surface of this frame were hundreds glass pods. Each one contained a clockwork apparatus of rotating spheres. It was still operating after all this time—the frame and armature turning counter rotationally, the myriad torsion pendulums spinning, their tiny metal balls all gleaming as they whirled about. The huge contraption was once shielded under a tent of fine wire mesh, but large pieces of it had broken away.

Engineer spotted cables and converters protruding from the construct's base. He narrowed his eyes. Was that machine some form of electrical generator, the likes of which he had only ever seen in sketches and unfinished plans? What kind of monster had Conagher used to power his work, anyways?

As the mechanism that had withdrawn the door went silent, a low humming sound could be heard from within the room. More startling was the tinny buzz produced in the group’s dental fillings. Engineer had noticed it before, when he was examining the puzzle door, but it was much stronger with that barrier removed. Several people frowned or rubbed their ears, confused by the noise coming from inside their heads. Engineer stepped over the threshold, and the sensation got worse. "Smells like ozone," he muttered and was ushered ahead by the rest of the entourage.

At the back of the group, someone gave a muffled burst of laughter. Engineer wrenched his gaze from the fascinating scenery to see what was funny. Then he bit his lip, fighting to hold in a chuckle. Although he and the bodyguards wore their heads shaved, The Administrator sported an elegant bouffant, and Tex's isolation had left him with a prospector's beard and scruffy hair. Those two were now experiencing the effects of a powerful atmospheric charge, which had erected every hair on the woman's head and the man's face.

To the Administrator's credit, she reacted in her usual fashion—with composed irritation. "I'm certain this phenomenon is highly entertaining to men with childish sensibilities, but I'm not paying you to examine my hair. You engineers should both be scrutinizing every inch of this room. Look for plans, for notes, for a damned operator's manual if you can find one. I want to know what that old man left in here!"

"Yes, ma'am," Engineer nodded, then took off towards the biggest machine in the room. The buzzing in his ears and the taste of ozone intensified as he drew near, along with an uncomfortable sensation in his robotic arm. Standing mere feet from the giant, there was no more doubt in Engineer's mind that the gleaming sideshow attraction was a generator. How it worked—or why old Conagher chose such a strange design— was a mystery that he'd have to solve later. Even in the short time he had, Engineer recognized there was a dangerous problem.

(Before it came apart, the mesh would have been a Faraday cage for this monster. Now it's unshielded. Damn, we've gotta be bathing in electromagnetic radiation in here. Hell, the whole plantation could be affected! Is this reason that electronics go haywire in this region- the centre of the devil's triangle?) He spotted a small metal plate engraved with the machine’s patent number and specifications. A low whistle escaped him as he returned to the woman. "This big fella's a generator, Ah can tell ya that. Ah'm anxious ta find out what makes it tick, but I'll do that on my own time." One of the goons wandered towards the fanciful dynamo, prompting Engineer to blurt, "Keep yer distance from that one! Its shielding is broken."

"Yeah, whatever you say, Shorty," came a grunted reply.

Engineer stifled the urge to frown, and found himself yawning instead. His fatigue wasn't shared by the lady in charge, who turned her gaze to another one of Radigan Conagher's lost inventions. "I wish to know the purpose of that machine next. Go look at it."

Out the corner of his eye, Engineer could see that Tex was busy studying the contents of a worktable. Tools, half-finished inventions, and materials littered the wooden surface. Feeling his enthusiasm return, he nodded and turned to his next task. As he got a closer look at the device, his pulse quickened just a bit. "Am I seein' what I think I'm seein'?" he murmured.

This machine was built around a glass chamber, large enough for a man to lie in, but too low for him to stand. The enclosure looked like it could be hermetically sealed. Behind it were the guts of the machine, and a control panel was positioned just over the glass box.

An old wooden pallet lay on the floor nearby, covered in a layer of desiccated dark-brown crud. The words "MANN BANANA - PRODUCE & IMPORTS" were written on the side in chipped paint. Beside the machine was a table laden with paperwork and several objects that were so stunning to Engineer that he was unsure they were really what they appeared to be. He reached for one, wondering what exactly it was, and how it had been created.

"Hmm... It certainly looks like an Australium banana, doesn't it?” the Administrator murmured, creeping up behind Engineer. She was aloof as always, but her voice expressed a hint of curiosity, too. The sight of the precious metal was clearly enough to pique her interest.

"Whatever it is, it ain't solid all the way through," he said, feeling its weight. "It does indeed seem ta be covered in Australium, but I don't know how thick the layer of metal is. Or how ya get Australium all over a banana, for that matter. Lemme see..."

A flash, a bang, and a bloodcurdling scream interrupted his train of thought. The cacophony was followed by a quiet thump. Clutching at his heart, he whipped around to see one of the goons now twitching on the floor less than two feet from the generator. The Administrator turned to glare at the scene, her face twisted with disgust. The rest of the bodyguards were staring in disbelief.

Tex knelt by the fallen man, frowning pensively. "This one's a goner, Ah'd say. You reckon he got too close ta that there dynamo?"

The armored goons began muttering among themselves, shaken by their comrade's horrible demise. Their boss was far less heartbroken. "Of all the damned incompetent, unprofessional, irresponsible—God! I tell my personnel contractor to bring me the best there is, and I end up with clumsy fools." Pinching the bridge of her nose, she took a few deep breaths, sucking in the air through clenched teeth. Then she directed her frown at the RED mercenary. "What are you waiting for? You have a job to do. Get on with it!"

Although he was feeling unnerved by the sudden death, Engineer tried to keep it from bothering him too much. He knew that his task would easily divert his attention from what had just happened. Still holding the banana, he squinted at some of the aged paperwork. He could feel the Administrator practically breathing down the back of his neck, but did his best to ignore it. After a few minutes, he spotted a yellowed document that offered insight into the purpose of the machine, the lab, and the plantation to boot.

"Seems that the Mann Company of yesteryear wanted old Conagher ta build somethin' that would preserve their bananas for the long voyage north. This musta' been what he came up with, somethin' that... Hmm. Come t'think of it, Ah'm not sure how well this'd work. How much do yer company records say about all this?"

An irritated glare was her initial response, to which she curtly added, "I may disclose those details to you if I deem it necessary." Engineer sighed, looking back to the table for more information. It figured that she’d be so tight-lipped about her motives. When he spotted a folder of the inventor's own notes on the project, he forgot his question and began poring over the information.

The papers confirmed that the nearby machine was responsible for the mysterious bananas. Conagher had tried various aerosol coatings and even made a disastrous attempt at electroplating the fruit, but in the end he resorted to his most powerful resource—Australium. Engineer let out a gasp as he digested the next paragraph. "I'll be damned!"

By this point, all of the bodyguards had gravitated towards the banana-gilding machine. The Administrator herself had taken one of the fruit in hand, and was idly examining it, drawing grooves in the foil with her nails. When Engineer spoke out, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you have something important to share with us?"

Engineer didn't know how much most of the room's occupants would understand, but he was feverish with excitement at what he had read. "Ah told you how they wanted him ta preserve bananas, right? And he decided to seal 'em up inside a layer of Australium?" He grinned despite the indifferent looks he was getting. To Engineer, the great inventor's unconventional methods were a source of amazement. "Here's how the machine does it! Micro-wave rays are passed through tubes of vaporized Australium salts. This creates a sort of plasma, which is released into the sealed chamber. The surface of the banana—or whatever organic material was put in there—becomes infused with the charged vapor, which literally transforms the skin cells into a film of Australium, just eight microns thick."

From the back of the group, Tex raised his voice. "Why the hell'd he abandon the project? Did it preserve them at all?"

The Administrator frowned pensively at her banana. Engineer flipped through some more papers, muttering to himself. One of the goons broke their concentration. "Why don't you just open one of them and see?"

"Oh! Well, heck. It's worth a try..." Engineer took his banana and tried to break it open. The layer of metal was flexible enough to be bent or twisted, but it would not tear. Finally, he stuck the gold banana in a table vise and tightened it up. Everyone looked on as Engineer subjected the banana to more and more pressure. He grunted with effort as he turned the screw once again, saying, "Alright y'all, stand back a bit. If this works, it could be kinda—"

In the midst of Engineer's rambling, the Australium-skinned banana burst. A gout of pale yellow mush was launched onto the ceiling, high overhead, and a familiar, sweet scent mingled with the generator's ozone emissions. "Holy shit," muttered one of the bodyguards. Decades after Radigan Conagher had transformed the banana, it was still fresh as the day it was picked.

The Administrator raised an eyebrow, but she had nothing to say about this development. The others were more vocal, cursing and muttering in confusion. Engineer returned to scanning the inventor's file for further ideas, murmuring to himself as he read. "According to these notes, the process left ya with more Australium than when you started. Only point-zero-seven-percent more, mind you, and you'd hafta use strong acid to separate it from the fruit. Even so, I'm curious t'see if this machine still works." Clearing his throat, he looked at all the black-clad men behind him and attempted an encouraging smile. "Say, do any of y'all have fresh fruit? Or, uh, some other organic material? Hell, even beef jerky might work."

There was a disheartening pause; the only answers Engineer received were the generator's low hum, and a muffled scraping noise that he couldn't identify. Then, from behind the wall of bodyguards, Tex drawled, "Ah got somethin'."

When the grizzled mechanic squirmed his way in through the group, Engineer felt a dubious premonition. (What the hell has he been doing while we were over here?) Tex had a bloodied hacksaw in one hand, and a fabric bundle on the other. The RED mechanic grunted distastefully, but allowed him access to the machine. When he emptied the cloth wrapping into the glass chamber, a severed hand flopped out- it had been taken from the dead bodyguard, of course.

The other armed men reacted with obscenities and angry words. More than one of them pointed his shotgun at Tex, a menacing gesture to be sure, but the Administrator had the last word on who would be shot. She studied the hand for a moment, her lip curling slightly in disgust, then looked to Engineer. "If that will suffice for a test-run, then proceed. Turn the damned thing on, already. ...oh, and Mister Tex? I don't want you leaving my sight again."

Engineer had recovered from his morning's brush with gore, but he was still appalled. "Was that really necessary?" he snapped at his counterpart. He would have glared at the guy to boot, but his gaze was preoccupied by the control panel and some of Conagher's notes. Gauges and indicator lights came alive as he turned the machine on, then started it warming up. (It looks like there's enough juice in there to cook up some plasma. Good.)

As everyone waited in silence, Engineer absentmindedly scooped up a glob of banana, then licked it off his finger. Still tasted fresh, even if it had the slightest tang of metal to it.

Behind him, the four remaining guards were muttering suspiciously to one another, or leaning over to watch the machine do its thing. The Administrator made a halfhearted effort to flatten her hair down, and Tex stood off to one side, fiddling with his shop apron; Engineer hadn't examined it closely, but the front pouch was bulging with tools. (Wouldn't be surprised if he's got a sidearm hidden in there. Hell, even a tire-iron is dangerous in the right hands,) the RED mercenary thought dubiously.

Some of the glass tubes inside the machine's guts became illuminated, pulsating with an eerie glow. Now sparks and flashes joined in the mix, and Engineer hastily checked the control panel for signs of trouble. The readings were all normal, though; he hoped that if something did go wrong, it'd make itself apparent before irreversible damage had taken place. Looking back to the sealed chamber, Engineer saw it was filling with a luminous gas, and for a moment his test subject was lost in the mist. Then a sharp bell was heard, and Engineer gave a tense sigh. "Looks like dinner's ready."

{To be continued... ooooooh...}

Ladies and gentlemen, cue the ominous music, for stuff is about to go down.

Boom, here's the rest. Phlogiston isn't real, but I included it because outdated, disproven scientific theories are funny.
______________________________________

Everyone crowded around as the plasma was sucked away, back to its reservoir within the machine. It left behind a most peculiar object. Engineer fought for enough free space to open the glass enclosure and remove his creation. The dead man's hand was now a gleaming gold color. Its outermost skin had become Australium, imitating the dead cells in perfect detail—right down to the fingerprints.

Two of the guards sounded angry, but the others were amazed. One joker asked, "Hey, y'think I could stick my woman in there? She'd never whine about tanning again." Someone else was making comparisons to King Midas. The Administrator just studied the gold hand with a critical eye. If he knew her at all, Engineer figured she was considering the invention's potential to make Mann Co. even wealthier. When extended her open hand towards him, the Texan gave it to her without hesitation. Whatever was on the outside, it was still part of a cadaver.

"Well, this is certainly fascinating," she murmured, holding up the gold-covered hand. It was strangely positioned, as though it were standing atop the woman's palm on its fingers. "As that machine is the last of its kind, it pleases me to see that it's still in working condition. Hmm...I'll let my R&D staff worry about improving its yield of Australium. For now, our greatest concern is getting it out of these abysmal ruins. Engineers, you two will be responsible for the disassembly. The rest of you, begin dis—"

Before the group's collective gaze, a horrible change occurred in the severed appendage. It moved. Contrary to any logical expectations that anyone could have formed, the perverse product of science leapt from the woman's hand and hit the floor. It skittered away in a panic like a drunken, gleaming spider. The Administrator's voice caught in her throat. She had far too much grit in her personality and her lungs to scream, but her shocked expression spoke volumes. Her entourage of goons had less dignity and gave startled cries as the thing went scrabbling off across the floor.

Engineer just gawked. As his brain wrestled to make sense of this development, he overheard his grizzled counterpart whisper, "Ho-lyyyy shit..." The man’s eyes were ablaze with excitement, his teeth shining as bright as the Australium on that hand.

One of the guards proved to be more reckless than the others. He leveled his Mossberg and shot the escaping hand. The force of the gunshot bounced it hard against the ground, then sent it rolling haphazardly away until a table leg blocked its path. Engineer squinted at his creation, unable to determine much from where he was standing. A guard with sharper eyes exclaimed, "It's still moving!"

"Put your weapons away, you morons!" snapped the lady in charge. "That damned thing won't bite you. Just throw a trash bin or a hat over it!"

Engineer heard the goons muttering and securing their shotguns in scabbards they wore across their backs. He was leery of his boss's temper and aching to study the rest of the room's contents. He decided to take matters into his own hands. "Alright, I'll go get the little bastard." Leaving the folder behind, he hurried off towards the abomination. When he gingerly picked it up, Engineer discovered it was in remarkably good shape for something that had just been peppered with buckshot. Its surface was cratered but unbroken where the steel pellets had struck. "It's barely scratched!"

As he spoke these words, another shot rang out in the laboratory. Engineer dove for cover before he could even wonder what had happened. Peering out from behind a phlogiston still, he saw one of the guards groaning in a pool of blood. The other guards wrestling to draw their shotguns. Two more had fallen before he saw the perpetrator, but there was really no question of who it could be. With the larger men out of the way, Tex could be seen firing a Mossberg 500 at the last guard.

Only then did a horrible revelation dawn on Engineer—while everyone else was gawking at the Australium bananas, Tex had set upon the electrocuted guard and took his weapon. (For all I know, that son of a bitch could have pushed him into the generator. Oh God, I had a bad feeling about that bastard the moment I saw him! Why didn't I watch him more closely?) True, that was the responsibility of those big dudes in riot armor, but they too must have been hypnotized by the gleam of Australium.

Engineer spotted the Administrator. She had crouched behind the gilding machine and produced a sturdy little derringer from under her skirt. It was no surprise to him that she was packing heat. Tex must have suspected so as well because he made himself scarce and set to work reloading. After a terrible moment where the only sounds heard were from the grievously injured men, Tex raised his voice to deliver an ultimatum. "You people don't know when to quit, do ya? Ah don't really wanna kill y'all. Just come out with yer hands in the air. I'll let ya gather yer wounded and walk out of here in one piece."

“That's a kind offer, but I believe I'll just have you killed.” The woman scoffed humorlessly. "Was this your plan from the very beginning, or have you decided to shun my goodwill on a whim?"

"Oh, Ah had plans! And backup plans, and backups for those plans too. Y'see, Ah told the other fellas we'd be set for life once we opened this sucker up. Somethin' started worryin' me after a while, though. Ah had an inkling of what might be in here, and none of it was Australium bars or deadly weapons. That meant things'd get ugly for me once the door opened." Tex gave a weird chuckle, and the others could hear him readying his stolen shotgun for further use.

"I suppose that's why you delivered your heartfelt appeal for assistance, transportation and a place in the respawn system?" The Administrator's tone was icy, her regular attitude compounded with the rage of the betrayed. Down on the floor, her bodyguards were still bleeding and producing piteous sounds of agony. Their riot armor did little to protect them from steel shot at close quarters. Only the last one to go down had his shotgun out, and to his credit, he was doing his best to ready it for when Tex popped out of hiding.

"Ma'am, there were some problems with my plans, and Ah knew you'd take care of 'em. First was the gang of greedy, impatient, dangerous ruffians who'd worn out their usefulness ta me.” Tex gave a mighty laugh, shrugging his shoulders. “Hell, you wanted those fellas dead anyways! Ah was just tellin' you where ta find 'em. Next, I needed an aircraft big enough and steady enough ta ship these fragile goodies off this island. My hat goes off t'you for that, by the way—that jet out there is a real beauty."

There was only so much of Tex's gloating that Engineer could stand, before he raised his voice. "How the hell d'you expect ta make off with that machine and yer filthy, deceitful hide, when yer gonna' hafta get through all of us first?!"

The only answer he got for his trouble was another laugh. Engineer grimaced, wishing desperately that he'd brought a concealed weapon. He could just charge Tex with a wrench, and hope the diversion would give the Administrator a clean shot. But if he wound up in respawn through his foolish action, he would be powerless to aid his employer. Even worse, he’d be leaving his last few teammates to that psychopath’s mercy. As Engineer wracked his brain for a better plan of attack, he frowned at the scene before him. (Those men on the floor are running out of time... If only I had some way to scare the bastard out of hiding, or call for my teammates.) The Administrator's walkie-talkie was on the table with the gilt bananas, beyond anyone's immediate reach. He grimaced, returning to his more aggressive plan. Peeking around the other side of the still, Engineer finally spotted his enemy. Tex was crouched on the floor, half-turned away from his observer. He seemed to be working on something, a strange device with two metal probes. It was attached to an insulated work glove.

As Engineer tried to figure out what he was looking at, something squirmed in his grasp. He almost freaked out before remembering what it was—the dead man's hand. (It's not a grenade, but this could be the distraction I've been looking for.) He whipped the severed appendage at Tex, grinning faintly as it grabbed the madman's shoulder.

In a fit of panic, Tex swore, "Goddamned spy!" He grabbed the shotgun and sprang to his feet, firing wildly. No spies had been lurking beside him, of course, and his barrage found other targets instead; he punctured the phlogiston still and gave his RED counterpart a light peppering of steel pellets.

Gas hissed faintly from the tank as volatile fumes escaped through holes in the metal drum. Engineer scrambled away in search of safer cover. He had no idea how much phlogiston was contained in the still or how potent it was after so long, but his fresh wounds were nothing compared to what he'd suffer if that giant gas can exploded right beside him. "Don't shoot! Get behind somethin'!"

The other two combatants didn't seem to acknowledge the danger. Tex was in plain sight now, doing a crazy dance of panic as Australium fingertips dug into his flesh. Seizing the opportunity he'd been waiting for, the armed guard angled his Mossberg towards Tex and fired. His shot was far off the mark, striking a shelf laden with jars of hardware. Glass shards and metal fittings exploded from overhead and rained down on the unfortunate men below.

Tex's flailing might have amused Engineer, if the situation were not so dangerous. It definitely didn't entertain the Administrator, who was trying to line up a shot on him. Blissfully ignorant of the more serious threat to his well being, Tex's wrath suddenly fixated on the injured guards. Ignoring his shrapnel strikes and the hand gouging his shoulder, he turned towards the goon who'd shot at him and blurted a mindless string of obscenities. "Lousy rotten shit-eatin' mother-fuckin'-!" Lying on the ground, gravely bleeding from his injuries, his target could no longer lift a shotgun's weight. Mumbling a hoarse plea for mercy, the guard feebly lifted a hand towards him.

The RED wasn't keen on stepping into the open, but if his boss wasn't going to get clear of the growing phlogiston cloud, he was going to have to drag her away. In the midst of emerging from his cover, he saw the imminent execution and froze. Words were leaving his mouth before he could think better of it. "Don't kill him, for God's sake! I've gotta evacuate them before this place goes up in smoke!"

"Fuck that, and fuck ya kindly!" Tex shouted, and disintegrated the helpless gentleman's face. Then he began laughing, and killed the next bodyguard in line.

In the same moment, Engineer charged forward with no destination or goal in mind. He had experienced a wide spectrum of angered emotions over the course of his life, but this was the first time he could remember actually seeing red. A sharp 'pop' echoed in his ears, but didn't reach his awareness. Right now, the center of Engineer's world was Tex—that treacherous bastard, that mad dog he should have put down before things had come so terribly undone.

Something bowled Tex over, throwing him back towards his hiding place. His stolen Mossberg went spinning through the air like a propeller before coming to rest among a heap of papers.

Engineer's veins were still saturated with adrenaline, his body dripping sweat, extremities tingling. He staggered to a halt and stared in utter confusion, sucking in great lung-fulls of air to replenish himself. His upper lip felt strangely itchy. In the steadiest voice he could manage, he stammered, "Wh-wha—h-how—"

From off to his left, a breathy older woman’s voice slithered into his ear. "I shot him, you fool. I never travel unarmed. Now quickly, take one of my men's weapons.” A glance towards the raspy voice revealed the Administrator—cool, composed, and reloading her stocking pistol.

"The still," Engineer mumbled, taking quick stock of the room with wide, goggled eyes. There were papers blown everywhere. One half of the workspace was freshly scattered with broken glass, blood, screws and nuts and other bits of hardware. Conagher's large machines were still undamaged- except the phlogiston still, which continued hissing quietly, emptying flammable vapors into the room. "He shot the damn thing. Its leakin' fast. I think we'd better get outta here. Grab the men he didn't finish off, and just get the hell out of here 'til the air clears."

Without waiting for her permission, Engineer stooped down and grabbed an injured goon. He could hear the guy breathing, which was the best he could hope for. (They're probably goners, but dammit! It's not right, just leavin' them here.) Although he was much shorter than any of the bodyguards had been, he managed to heft the wounded man up against his chest. (How long will it take for the gas to dissipate, anyhow? I'm sure I saw vents up overhead, so once it rises up that high...)

"It is physically impossible for me to carry a large man on my own," the Administrator said. She turned to gather an armload of files related to the gilding machine. Hugging the thick stack of papers against her chest, she started for the door. The Engineer followed as she continued belting orders. "I must insist that we abscond as soon as possible. Time is a commodity I cannot afford to waste. If the rest of your team hasn't found their way here by the time we've climbed those stairs, I will give the call to muster over the public address. With my private workforce decimated, I'll be requiring your brute strength to-"

Somewhere behind them, a faint groan rose up from the floor. A pang of guilt struck Engineer. "Don't you worry, buddy, I'll come back and get ya just as soon as I've got yer co-worker out."

The person who answered him was not the remaining live guard. In a voice strained with pain and fury, Tex snarled, "Ah ain't done with you bastards...”

They both looked back to see him lurching to his feet, gushing blood from the hole the Administrator put through his shoulder. Engineer narrowed his eyes in confusion when he saw that jury-rigged device was in use. Now worn over Tex's right arm, it almost looked like a perverse prosthesis, a fake hand with two thick metal fingers in a black plastic base. "Chrissakes, Tex. Just lie back down and take yer death like a man."

"Give up?” Tex spat blood at him, renewing his laughter. “Ha, haha... oh, Ah've got a shock for you. Y'see this little... number? Ah call it the Short Circuit..."

There were several paces between them. The Administrator could draw her derringer faster than Tex could come close enough to touch either of them with the prod hand. "If you'd be so kind as to kill him, ma'am?" Engineer sighed. He was tired of the fighting, the mudslinging, the antagonism. He just wanted the other Engineer's crazed grin to cease existing altogether.

"I should have done this ages ago," she murmured, reaching for her gun. It was at that moment the prod on Tex's glove emitted a hum and a single white spark.

In a room awash with flammable vapors, a spark was all it took to change everything.




Spy, Sniper and the two Scouts were dashing down the stairs when an explosion rattled the fragile conservatory around them. The doorway below belched out an airy puff of red fire, the outermost rim of whatever had just gone off inside. A hot whirlwind blasted its way up the stairwell, carrying singed papers along with it. When their collective yell of shock died down and they dared to stand up again, the four men stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. Then without so much as a word, the REDs bolted for the arched door below. They didn't share their thoughts, because they didn't need to. In that instant, there was only one thing that either of them could have said:

Engineer was still down there.

Engie, nooooo! And Administrator!

Wonderful chapter.

I love your characterization of Engineer. Usually, in fiction, either the hero refuses to kill anybody at all, or he is completely indifferent to any deaths that are not the best friend's or the love interest's.

Here, Engineer genuinely cares for the red shirts, get furious over their deaths and tries his hardest to save them. But he is completely casual about finishing off the bastard who really deserves to die. I love the perfect blend of compassion, ruthlessness and common sense.

Also, it's nice to see the Administrator personally shoot somebody, instead of ordering somebody else to do the shooting.

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Poor Engie's in a world of pain. Burns really do hurt. And I'm sure Sniper is familiar with a Pyro sneaking up on him and burning him to death. It's probably most of everyone's least favorite way to go.

Considering the circumstances she was being shockingly nice. If Andy wants his freedom he can take it, that's what she's counting on~!

I can totally picture The Administrator scowling at the ceiling, surrounded by sobbing idiots on her payroll. I'm not surprised she came out of the blast with minimum damage, she's one tough bitch.

I also like Sniper comforting Soldier. I really like the whole "band of brothers" vibe the team has and yes, while they are a bunch of psychotic mercenaries that doesn't mean they aren't incapable of experiencing a long dark night.

One bit of crit, I must say the repeated use of "little guy" is getting on my nerves. It just doesn't feel like a term any of the others would use and since most of the story is in third person limited, the term comes off as out of character. And I know writers have problems with word repetition, favorite phrases or words and I myself when I edit have to comb through my work and pluck out all the times I subconsciously used them.

But I loved this chapter. Lots of human connection. Lots of feelings being felt. Can't wait to find out what happens next. Will they be able to find healing supplies? When is Soldier going to notice it's BLU Spy with them? And what about RED Spy and Heavy and the other members of the team trying to get back?

And something still seems to be happening down in the lab. Uh-oh....

>>194

Actually, once you get to the level of third degree burns or Full-thickness burns, you've also burned your nerve endings away, so the pain is rather... not there. Of course, given how burned Engie is, he might not survive the level of burns he has, especially over so much of his body.

>>195 With these descriptions: The flesh on his shoulders, the back of his head and the outer sides of his arms was seared red. It had the odd sheen of melted wax in some places, undoubtedly a precursor to the blisters that were soon to follow. it sounds like large parts are second degree burns, not third. Which isn't to say that they're not very serious and life-threatening.

>>194 Hehe, thanks. I put a lot of thought into vignettes like that, and whether or not I'm overdoing the characters' experiencing (and expressing) emotions, given the situation they're in. Admittedly, there's limited canon to go by and most of the characters' emotes are taunts, but they don't seem to be incapable of human feeling when it comes to their interactions with one another, so... I've always imagined that they get along about as well as you could hope for a team of nine mercenary killers. I can never quite buy a "team group-hug" story where they're baking cookies and giggling about who's shagging who, but I don't think I'm stretching things too far to show them having feels.

I try to limit my use of the same phrases too frequently, but I guess it must happen. When I've got a group of several adult men together, I start running out of different ways I can refer to each one in a manner that won't confuse the reader. It's not meant to suggest he's inferior to his teammates or anything, he just is literally the shortest member of the group. If the phrase really bothers people a lot, I could change it in the hardcopy, but unfortunately there's no editing these threads.

I remember someone describing their first experience playing Sniper with the phrase "constantly on fire". Nobody really likes burning, but the flyweights like Engineer and Sniper get it worse. 125 HP isn't much of a buffer...

>>195 For what it's worth (on the technical side of things), he's supposed to be suffering extensive second-degree burns. I mostly read about treatment when I was doing my research, and the thought of nerve damage only occurred to me later. I'm not actually sure if second-degree burns destroy the nerve endings.

No, I didn't think your use of "little guy" came off as a way to call him inferior. It just sounds too much like cute puppy talk.

198 posts already, hum? And mine is #199.

I think threads automatically auto-sage at #200. Obvious, you probably ought to make a new thread for the next update.

As for the chapter itself... Tbh, I'm not convinced about the characterization of Soldier and Sniper here. It seems to me that they tend to cry a little too easily. I mean, yeah, sure Engie got hurt and they love him, but come on, it's not like his injuries are gonna be permanent. Even if they love him from the bottom of their heart, they are used to die violently every day on the battlefield, it's routine to them. Even death by fire is nothing new.

I can see how they might find Engie's pain distressing. I also can see how they might feel guilty over the fact that they know they could spare Engie the pain with a bullet to the head, that that would be the best course of action, but they don't have the guts to temp-kill their lover so he is suffering for their cowardice.

But I honestly have a hard time believing that people who get killed by the enemy Pyro every day would burst out crying about it.

Eh, my rationale was the amount of time they've been out in the field, and the level of physical and emotional exhaustion they're feeling at this point. I couldn't imagine any of the mercenaries crying over the course of a regular battle, where they're all running the treadmill of charge-kill-die-respawn, but both of these men are running on fumes at this point. There's no hot shower, no hot meal and no bed for them to crawl back to at this point. Even if someone else walks back through the jungle in the dark and retrieves the one helicopter they've got left, they're still going to be languishing like this for the next few hours. So (at least by my reckoning), frustration and mental exhaustion would be pretty intense by this point.

Addendum: Here we go, take 2. I shouldn't have rushed to get this out, but such is life. After mulling over this part, I got my usual suspect to give it another going-over, and here we go. Since threads stop bumping at this point, I'll start a new one when the next installment is ready.

One factor which is unspoken here, but has been hinted at repeatedly in this story and my last, is the nature of respawn and the characters' survival instinct. This is just my perspective on the matter, but here goes: Whether it's through chemical influence or something else, the characters are hard-wired to retain their aversion to death. Even knowing they'll come back, they will fight tooth and nail to stay alive. Respawn isn't an excruciating process, but it's not enjoyable, and they try to avoid dying at all costs. Why? It they started to just take it for granted, they'd get reckless and careless, and their performance would suffer.

>>192 You can thank my beta reader (and awesome writer) D.F.38 for much of that bit about Engineer, they polished it a lot from the state it was in on my first draft.

I figure Engineer is as much of a killer as any of his teammates, but he's not evil. He knows the faceless goons have lives and families somewhere. I also figure that an evil mastermind like the Administrator's gotta be packing heat. Hehehe...
_____________________________

Engineer was thinking about Sniper's van. Or dreaming about it, perhaps. He was warm, as though he had fallen asleep in his friend's cramped little home and forgotten to turn on the ratty old air conditioner. Why he had come here, he couldn’t recall. The van had become sort of a second bedroom to Engineer, but only during the weekend. He was quite positive that this was a Thursday. Yes, Engineer could never be mistaken about such an important thing. This was definitely Thursday. Why would he be asleep in Sniper's van?

People were talking outside, but their voices were muffled. He groaned and tried to shift his position, but it was too hard to move. He felt as though he was smothered under a heap of thick blankets. (This heat is choking the life out of me... I've gotta get up. Gonna pass out if I don’t do something.) The mattress felt wrong, firm and bony. Engineer realized there was a person under him. (That's not Mundy! Why am I in bed with a stranger?)

The thought was unsettling under any circumstances, but in his lover's bed? Engineer felt a pang of crushing guilt. He couldn't understand why such a heavy burden had struck him. He tried to put it out of his mind, finding the feeling of treachery sticking to his skin like the sweat summoned from the sweltering heat. He couldn't look down at the body beneath him. (Chrissakes. Wrong number of hands. Are there two? More?) A pall of darkness snared his vision. The voices from before were closer now. Engineer felt his heart twist.

One voice warbled through the abyss. "...ly shit, what the fuck happened?! What's all that...s like a fuckin' charcoal briquette..."

Another familiar tone broke into Engineer’s head. “...uckie! Truckie, can you...God. We have to...”

It was his teammates. Their words sounded alarmed, horrified even. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't figure out what they were discussing. Had something happened out there? If he managed to get out from under these stifling blankets, he could take stock of the situation and lend a hand. He tried shouting to them. His voice wouldn't rise above a whisper. Panic was going to swallow him whole. He struggled to move—to scream—to do anything to escape the muffled, strangling darkness.

_______________________


When they were mustering outside, the mismatched group of mercenaries thought they were in for a fight. The explosion put an end to that expectation. Sniper was the first to charge headlong into the room. When black smoke struck his face, he knew he wouldn't be using his weapons. Scout dashed beside him, gaping at their surroundings with a look of appalled disbelief.

"What the—holy shit! What the fuck happened?! What's all that burning shit, old newspapers?!” Scout flailed his arms in a desperate attempt to clear his vision of smoke. He caught flashes of bodies lying in cindered heaps around the room. His eyes darted, tongue flying in a panic at what he saw. “F-fuck, is that Engie?! He looks like a fuckin' charcoal briquette! Is—is he alive? I mean, he's still here, so he's gotta' be alive, right?"

While the American panicked at the door, his teammate dashed into the room—a reckless move to be sure, but Sniper wasn't at his most rational. He scrambled over singed papers and broken glass and crouched before his best friend. The Texan lay face-down among the wreckage. Trying not to fly into a blind panic, Sniper grabbed Engineer’s face and started patting it. "Truckie! Truckie, can you hear me?! Oh, God. We have to get him out of here!”

The thick canvas of Engineer's overalls had spared some of his body from the fire, but smoldering tatters of fabric hung from him in strips all that remained of the man's shirt. The flesh on his shoulders, the back of his head and the outer sides of his arms was seared red. It had the odd sheen of melted wax in some places, undoubtedly a precursor to the blisters that were soon to follow. Sheltered beneath him—to the extent that the stocky man's body was capable—were two people. One was a bodyguard. The other one their Administrator.

It was hard for Sniper to look at the collapsed people at his knees and conceal his anguish. If Medic was around, or a dispenser nearby, they could ease the severity of Engineer's wounds. Swallowing down the painful knot in his throat, he glanced at his younger teammate. "Scout! Go and see if they've got any medical supplies in the plane!"

"Yeah! Yeah, I can do that!" the boy stammered, then darted off.

BLU Spy and Andy ventured towards Sniper, covering their mouths as they took in the destruction. The gilding machine's glass compartment had cracked open in several places, and countless irreplaceable notes and tools had been dashed about the room in smoldering heaps. High overhead, the ceiling ducts were slowly evacuating the smoke, quickly enough that the mercenaries hadn't collapsed the moment they stepped in. The broken Faraday cage had shielded the generator from the worst of the shrapnel. Despite some surface damage, it was still in operation. None of that mattered compared to the horrible injuries and losses of life around them.

"Shit, da air down here's not so good. How many of dem are still alive?" Spy hunched down, frowning at the woman's scalded leg that was protruding from under Engineer. Synthetic stockings would have melted into her skin, but they had just burned away—she must have worn silk. Her head was sheltered by the Texan's right arm. As their rescuers studied the wounded group, she moved slightly.

"Seems like me mate's alive, I can see him breathing. She is too. Don't know about the other one.” Sniper’s eyes darted around, searching for anything of use. “We gotta get ‘em outta here, and quick! Grab those planks and use 'em like stretchers. Lay 'em out face-down.” Sniper's experience with burn victims was limited, but he was determined to do his best at assisting them.

"What the fuck exploded, anyway?" Andy was hopping and fidgeting amidst the debris. His usefulness in moving bodies would be limited, and Sniper wondered if it would have been better sending him away instead of Scout. "D'you see Tex anywhere down here? I don't know what happened, but—" As his words trailed off to nothing, the one-armed boy took a nervous look around the room.

Spy grumbled pensively. There was an unspoken implication to Andy's question. "Dat son of a bitch seemed pretty shifty. I've gotta wonder if he didn't try somet'ing. Huh, or maybe... No. If it was a sudden accident, dose t'ree wouldn't have been running for da door." Locating fragments from a table that wasn't burning, he grabbed some of the long planks and hauled them back, then set them down alongside the injured.

Still brooding before his fallen friend, Sniper grunted in surprise when he was suddenly jabbed in the back by wooden planks. An impatient glare greeted his eyes when he looked up at Spy. "Quit moping and get off your ass. We can take da little guy out first. I'll grab his feet, you get da shoulders."

"Right." He nodded, then stood, turning his attention to Engineer. As Sniper pried his friend's goggles off and caught a glimpse of the man's face, he had the strangest impression that Engineer was now sporting a moustache. (What the bloody hell? I must be seeing things. I've been awake too long.)

With the help of the BLU agent, Sniper hoisted Engineer off the floor, and set him down again on the plank. "...okay Truckie. Hang in there. I'm here for ya. You just be strong, mate." Although the top and back of his head was badly seared, Engineer's face had escaped with little damage. He was mercifully unconscious and made no sound or struggle during the trip up the stairs.

Andy scuttled along behind the older men, still chattering nervously about the firefight, mysterious explosion, and what might have caused them. He was thoroughly ignored by both older men. When they reached the conservatory, the BLU agent looked over Sniper's shoulder and asked, "You t'ink it's safe working in here wit' all dis Goddamn broken glass?"

“That’s the least of our problems,” a short reply snapped its way into the BLU Spy’s conversation with Sniper. Miss Pauling came bounding into the conservatory, a green sack slung over her shoulder. If the red cross on the bag was any indication, then it was crammed full of medical goods. She nodded towards the limp man in their care. "You've got to get the Administrator as soon as possible. Just set him down here, I’ll work on him." The bespectacled woman gave an agitated sigh, and added, "She'll be hopping mad if she realizes that you didn’t rescue her first."

"Of all da people in dat room, she was in da best healt',” Spy huffed. “I'm not so optimistic about her guards.” Spy looked very much like he wanted to peel off his balaclava. It was so dirty and sweaty that it felt more like a scab than a sleek mask.

They carefully laid down the wooden plank with Engineer in tow. Sniper paused a moment to rub his eyelids, grimacing. He heard a scuffing sound and opened his eyes to see Scout crouching beside him with the metal canteen, slowly pouring the last of its water onto a thick wad of folded gauze. As if he could sense Sniper's eyes on him, the kid explained himself. "We gotta cool him down. Gotta—uh—immerse the area in water, or pour cool water on it. Yeah! I guess I did remember somethin' useful from Boy Scouts." Scout sighed, laying down squares of gauze as carefully has his shaky hands could manage. Sniper reached down and gently patted Scout on the shoulder, a mournful look on his long face.

Although he wanted to stay and help, Sniper knew his strength was needed moving people up from the lab. "If you're all set, we'd best get the others.”

Spy came forward with some useful information. He tapped Miss Pauling on the shoulder, then nodded his head towards the conservatory’s entrance. "Dere's an old water tap just a couple feet to da right of da door. I saw da bastards here using it. It ran cold and clear after a few minutes, so it's probably safe.”

"Good, we'll need more water than I could find. For now, get moving. The others might not have much time.” Miss Pauling urged. She wasn't one to shirk any task, quickly setting to work with the medical supplies. Sniper’s stomach clenched as she put a large needle into the underside of Engineer's left arm. He rushed for the stairs, managing to stave off any emotional displays for the time being.



When he stepped into the lab for a second time, Sniper immediately noticed that something had changed. The gilding machine hadn't caught his eye during the first trip down, but it was now impossible to miss. Inside of the thing, Sniper could spy bits that were now glowing and whirring. Its cracked glass underbelly was more worrisome. An opaque mist filled the compartment, seeping sluggishly out of its many cracks. Sniper thought there might be something else inside, but he couldn't tell. One look at the machine was all that it took to make him hurry.

His sentiments on the strange contraption were shared by the rest of the group. "What the fuck's that thing doing?" Scout asked, looking grateful that the injured were nowhere near it.

Sniper did his best to form a plan of action. "I don't know, and frankly, I don't give a flying fuck right now. Grab one of those broken tables, like what we used to carry away Engie. You too, Andy. Spy, take the Administrator." With that, Sniper crouched down and hefted the surviving guard up against his chest. Any worries he might have felt about mishandling their patients fell to the wayside, outweighed by fears of that suspicious machine. For all Sniper knew, it could have caused the explosion in the first place.

None of the others argued with his orders. Soon enough, they were trudging back up the stairs, each man wrestling with his own burden. Their employer began regaining her senses, and grumbled a semi-conscious demand to be set down, but Spy rebuked her. "You'd fall over if you tried to walk right now, Mademoiselle. Just settle down and wait for some medical treatment."

"...clumsy oaf," she growled, but relented.

Sniper was tempted to rip the Administrator a new one for all the trouble she had put them through, but he held his tongue—even wounded, the woman was still a dangerous megalomaniac. And she signed his paycheques. When he stepped into the conservatory, he was greeted by a completely unexpected sight. His heart lurched painfully, and it was all he could do to not forget his fragile cargo and break into a run. "Demoman! Soldier! When the hell did you get here?!"

Behind him, he heard Scout give a whoop of surprise. Sniper was no less startled than the boy. It had been over a day since he last saw either of the two men. Soldier was looking to be in rough shape. He sat beside Engineer with a morose look on his face. Demoman had made out better, health-wise. He was carrying a bucket of water over to the impromptu medical station, grinning wearily at the sight of the other REDs. "It were no' five minutes ago, mate! Is that all o' the wounded?"

"Yeah, the others down there looked pretty dead. I'm not so sure this poor bastard's got much of a chance either, t'be honest. Unless we can get..." Sniper's expression waxed grave and pensive as he glanced down at his passenger. His mind began turning as he remembered something, something that could save the guard's life—and spare his dear friend from the excruciating pain of extensive second degree burns. "Just had an idea. Here, gimme a tic t'get this bloke settled." The two Scouts set down their wooden planks, and Sniper lay out the injured guard on the largest one.

Miss Pauling had stiffened up like a deer in headlights at the sight of the older woman being brought in. The Administrator grimaced in pain as Spy placed her on the other pallet. Her heavy smoking habit had probably girded her lungs against the lab's polluted air, but her right arm and leg were practically glowing with burns. A less stoic person might have been screaming from second-degree burns of that extent, but she limited her vocalizations to short, terse demands. "Bring me water. NOW. And gauze. Ugh, and a cigarette."

"R-right away, ma'am!" Miss Pauling had really done all she could for Engineer. She had even hung an IV bag of Ringer's Lactate from the nearest table, which was replenishing the burned man's bodily fluids. When she scrambled off to assist the Administrator, even Soldier didn't do more than grunt and pull his feet out of the way.

Scout had busied himself retrieving a fold-out table from the wreckage. He dragged it over to where the others had gathered, then collapsed the thing and lay down on it. His counterpart had to settle for a chair. With nobody else stepping up to the plate, BLU Spy began peeling armor off the wounded guard. Maybe it was the hectic atmosphere, but the two RED newcomers didn't seem to notice or care that there was an enemy in their midst. Staring grimly at Engineer had become a full-time occupation for Soldier, and Demoman had run out to get more water for their scowling overlord. When he returned with a bucketful, he set it down where Miss Pauling could reach it, then hurried off to join his teammates.

"Alright mates. We need a plan," Sniper began. He was mentally rehearsing the route back to the basement, where Ruprecht's dispenser could be found. As he approached Engineer's resting place, Soldier rose shakily. The American derailed his train of thought with a swift, solid punch to the face. The force of the blow knocked Sniper off his feet and onto his ass. Immediately, the group broke into an unfocused shouting match.

Sniper pawed clumsily at his nose, which was gushing crimson. He gawked at Soldier, confounded. "What in the bloody hell was that for?!"

Red-faced and blazing mad, Soldier roared, "WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THIS HAPPENED?! HOW could you let this HAPPEN TO HIM, you BRAINDEAD, BANDY-LEGGED BASTARD?!”

The words ignited a wildfire of anger within Sniper; he staggered to his feet, glowering back at his attacker. "Do you have any idea of what's happened here, ya bleedin' drongo?! What makes you think I could have—” Words caught in his throat. He cleared them with a strong yell. “They wouldn't let anyone else down there! Just him, the other egghead, and her bloody goons! So don't you fucking tell me I LET this happen, because they bloody well cut us off!"

"Have ye lost yer bleedin' mind?!" Demoman's expression was similar to Sniper's. He stepped towards Soldier, in case the team's loose cannon decided to try anything else. Fatigue and injury had never stopped Soldier before.

"A good soldier NEVER lets his men wander into dangerous territory ALONE! I outta jam my SHOVEL up your ASS and BREAK IT OFF IN THERE! Then maybe you’ll think twice about SITTING AROUND when MY... when a TEAMMATE is in danger!" As Soldier continued railing on the bushman, he became more unstable. When he paused to catch his breath, he looked like he was on the verge of either full-on hysteria, or tears.

From his place at floor level, Scout contributed at an unusually low volume. "Fuuuuuck, would you guys quiet the fuck down? I'm tryin' to get some rest," Curled up on a chair nearby, Andy just winced and covered one ear with his remaining hand.

The kid from Boston didn't have much heft when it came to defusing emotionally charged clashes like this. Fortunately, someone else in the room did. Laying propped-up on a bundle of her own tattered clothes, the Administrator turned her head to glare at the men. Despite the horrible pain she must have been feeling as Miss Pauling applied wet gauze to her burns, she spoke in a sharp voice that did not waver.

"Gentlemen, I am currently recovering from a rather serious accident. I hope your gnat-like attention spans do not hinder your ability to listen when I tell you this. My patience is spent. If your brute strength was not needed, I would kill everyone responsible for that little... outburst." She paused to take a drag from her cigarette, letting her icy stare linger on the mercenaries. "Now that we're all on the same page, I hope you'll save any temper tantrums for after this mission is over. In the meantime, if any of you know the whereabouts of a Medi-gun, a dispenser, or some other machine that would help the injured here, do come out with it."

Still trying to stop the bleeding from his nose, Sniper croaked, "Just what I was gonna say. Their bastard medic 'ad a dispenser down in the basement. His Medi-gun were probably there somewhere, too." A murmur of realization passed over the group. Even Soldier backed off. He returned to his seat beside the wounded Texan.

Rubbing the fatigue from his eyes once again, Scout groaned and started assuming an upright position. "Yeah, right. We- we gotta get it."

Demoman moved up beside Sniper and put an arm around his shoulder, giving him a crooked smile. "Aye, that sounds good! What's the fastest way... Oh! Hold up, mate. Soldier, ye think it'd be easier carryin' the little healin' box that Engineer made?"

"That thing's back down the road, and you'd have to get around God knows what other traps to get it." As he spoke, Soldier didn't look up at the others. He was dripping water onto Engineer's bandages, studying the shorter man with a brooding expression, like an eagle watching over its nest.

Out of the blue, Spy suddenly cut in. He was leaning over the pale body of the injured guard, wiping blood from his hands with a wet cloth. "Dis guy's got one foot in da grave. I don't t'ink you can get down to dat torture chamber and back, all while carrying a Goddamn dispenser, in less den t'ree quarters of an hour. If you can find Mssr. Ruprecht's Medi-gun, well... I'd give him twenty minutes. But I don't know where dat monster stowed it. He wasn't using it when we chased him off." The masked man spat, frowning grimly at his patient. "Hostie de tabernac maudite... Whatever you do, do it fast."

"I know how ta get around the side of the mansion," Andy said, with a hint of trepidation. "When I got caught—uh, when your guys' Engineer found me, he said he wanted to group up with you. I showed him the way. It's kind of a short path through the bushes. Easy to miss if you don't know it's there." When the rogue scout finally realized that all eyes were upon him, he shrunk back in his chair and grinned nervously. "C'mon, guys, d- don't gimme that look. I helped! I- I'm back in the company again, right, babe?"

He flickered a glance towards Miss Pauling, who responded in a less than reassuring manner. "That's not really my call, Mister Dillon."

Miss Pauling cleared her throat in an uneasy bid for the Administrator's attention. The older woman was popping some pills from the medical supply. She narrowed her eyes, not deigning to look at anyone in particular. "On signing your contract, you acknowledged that the penalty for betraying the RED company is death. ...given the current situation, I may be persuaded to consider lighter disciplinary measures... IF you get a fucking healing machine, and fast!" Considering the circumstances she was being shockingly nice.

Andy seemed to think so, at any rate. He sprang to his feet, stammering, "Sir yes sir!" and was halfway to the door when Demoman spoke up.

"Ye might have a wee bit of a problem carryin' that thing, lad. Here, Ah'll come wi' ye and lend a hand.” Chuckling insensitively at his joke, the Scotsman caught up with Andy and clapped him across the back. The kid almost jumped in fear, but ultimately, he was probably glad to be travelling with someone who wouldn't be kicking his backside the whole way there.

As Demoman and Andy disappeared into the night, Sniper shuffled around the other side of Engineer's plank. Broken glass crunched under his feet. Soldier gave him a brutal glare, but he ignored it. He was desperate to be at his friend's side. The Texan's face was nestled in a ring of towels, the best support one could hope to provide someone in his position. Sniper caught a glimpse of one peacefully closed eye, sandy eyelashes a stark contrast to the pink hairlessness of Engineer's burned scalp.

Suddenly feeling as though he were being torn in half, the Australian clutched a hand over his face and sagged against his knees. Keeping quiet wasn't too hard—it was a necessary part of his job, after all—but his blood-tinged snot and searing tears were harder to suppress. This here was just the metaphorical back-breaking straw, the latest crummy incident in a day that had been non-stop bullshit. Finding himself without a place to go or a job to do, he sank into a state of despair.

Sniper scrunched forwards with his chin against his knees and power-sulked. He fished through his pockets and his pack, locating a rag to soak up the mess on his face. On the other side of the unconscious Engineer, he heard Soldier give a faint, hoarse noise, like a broken laugh. This aggravated his temper, which was already in a tenuous state. He rolled his head towards Soldier, preparing to give him a piercing evil eye. What Sniper saw was jarring.

Although Soldier's helmet was of considerable help in hiding his face, the burly American had sought further concealment with a dirty sleeve. What Sniper could discern of his features was tragic. Exhausted, slumped on the floor and suffering his own injuries, keeping watch over the badly burned form of his best friend in the world—Soldier had reached the limits of his stamina and rigorous self-control. The noise that Sniper heard was quiet, muffled sobbing.

All around them, the room had settled into a dismal, field hospital atmosphere. Having exerted his limited abilities to treat the guard, Spy had left the man with a saline drip and was now smoking away from the patients with a morose demeanour. Scout's attempt at napping was troubled, fitful. The boy's whimpers and weak cries, though quiet, were the loudest noise heard among the group. Miss Pauling had stepped out to get more water, leaving the Administrator to suffer her wounds in stony silence. She looked disgusted with the moping pair. Some great killers she’d hired.

Mixed signals were traversing Sniper's nervous system, dissonant urges struggling to fire neurons. He was sad, sorry, angry, and bitter about so many things at that moment in time, not the least of which was his bloodied nose. Soldier was the cause of that. His natural inclination after such an incident was to completely ignore Soldier for the next week. But right now he was experiencing another impulse—to sympathize with the American, or even say something.

As the conflict skittered through his agitated nerves, he found himself thinking of the man between them, the one who had encouraged things like empathy in himself and in Soldier. (Jesus Christ, this mission's piled up so much shit on all of us. You'd tell me that bickering won't help the situation at all, wouldn't you? You're always saying we've got to stick together the closest when things are at their worst...)

Sniper cleared his throat as quietly as he could. Still staunching the flow of snot with his rag, he dared to give Soldier a bleary look. The American's face was uncovered now, but noticeably damp, drawn into a wide frown that was struggling to preserve its shape. He was a proud man with a will of stone and iron. Even if his spirit was crushed, his stoicism fought to squash the desire to show any emotional displays.

"Hey," the Australian said quietly, and rather roughly. "I'm... well, I'm sorry. For what's happened to our mate. If I could've been there, I..."

Soldier heaved a hoarse, gusty sigh. "I wasn't there, either. I couldn't help him. ...Goddammit, those boys had better get back here and patch him up before he comes to." The helmet tipped back a little, and for a moment Sniper could see his teammate's rheumy eyes. "Engie hates getting burned. More than getting shot, stabbed, or blown up. I've been with him in respawn after a sneaky bastard Pyro's gotten the jump on him, and he... well, it's hard for him to pull himself back together after being burned to a crisp." While he tried to explain his concerns, to speak of a human's fear and pain in ways that weren't derisive or mocking, Soldier struggled with the words. “It’s a slow death, burning. There’s nothing more cowardly and inhuman than drawing out an opponent's death.”

The marksman's brow creased as he thought of this, looking down at his wounded friend. Almost every mercenary had his own least-favorite way to go. Nobody would argue that permanent death was better than respawn, but the trip always seemed rougher when they met their end in the most gruesome, excruciating fashion imaginable. Sniper's experiences were enough to understand what kind of distress Soldier had been trying to describe. “If he comes around before they've got him patched up, we'll be here for him. We'll help him get through."

The brash American didn’t say anything in return. He grunted, then reached for cold water once more. Like a solemn ritual, Soldier returned to pouring the liquid on his friend’s burns. His hands moved slowly and gently, thick fingers careful not to touch damaged skin. Soldier's face was no longer shuddering as though it might crack at any moment. It had settled into something closer to his everyday frown. His nostrils stopped flaring, his eyes clearing. Somewhere between nursing his fallen teammate and Sniper’s quiet words, he had found solid ground once more.

Peace settled once more on the group. As Sniper finished mopping his face, he found the slings and arrows of the past two days were less painful. Tension still gnawed at him, but he was finally coping with what he'd been through. He closed his eyes, listening to the wind and soft sounds of water slopping. Cold metal bumped into his shoulder, catching his attention. Turning to face the object, he found himself staring at a half-filled canteen and Soldier’s rough hands. He took it, then sat on his knees. With Soldier’s sharp eyes drilling into him, he too began pouring water onto Engineer’s burned body.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Soldier grunted.

“Always am,” Sniper chuckled wearily.

Sighing, Soldier kept his gaze on Engineer’s still form. “At least you can admit it.”

Another awesome update. You're the best!

I'm actually feeling a bit gutted this fic is coming to an end. It's been such a great ride. You don't often get action and adventure written well fics but this has been a thrilling ride from beginning to end! I look forward to seeing how you are going to wrap it all up but then I think I will have to read it all again from the start.

Aww, I'm glad it's been entertaining to some of you people out there. With luck I'll manage to rustle up the inspiration to write another story once I'm through with this one, and the various afterward-bits to wrap things up.

I thought this thread would stop bumping itself up at 200, but maybe they changed that? Oh well, here's a brief update, then!

______________________________


While the Australian took over the job of cooling Engineer's burns, Soldier tried to seat himself in the least painful manner possible. It wasn't easy. He was riddled with fragments of shrapnel, and the persistent ache in his chest and tailbone suggested breakage. Considering how close he'd been to wearing the Colonel's last rocket, he was lucky to be alive. Seeing his own wounds mended wasn't Soldier's first priority, though. Engineer was in worse shape, and at this point in their mission, putting the Texan out of his misery was not an option.

(That crazy broad still wants to take everything she can from the lab down there. I don't know if they found bombs or guns or a new kind of paper shredder, but there's only one person left who can sort out all of that crap for her.) Even as he brooded over his unconscious friend, Soldier could hear the Administrator relaying orders through her walkie-talkie. (She really doesn't give any quarter, does she? Once she's got her mind set on something, she won't stop until she has it.) He might have admired her relentlessness more, if she wasn't such a demanding bitch.

Amidst the hushed sounds of conversation and the night wind, another noise caught Soldier's ear. He frowned and looked towards the alcove, which was a few meters away. "Is someone coming up the stairs? Could've sworn I heard footsteps."

"What?" Sniper followed Soldier's gaze. "God, I hope not. The other guards down there were... I mean, they couldn't have been alive. They were bloody cooked.” He paused for a moment, letting out a troubled sigh. “We didn't find that shifty little bugger. I reckon he got buried under the wreckage. ...and even if he's still alive, there's no way he could get up and walk after all that."

Soldier huffed, unsure who the "shifty little bugger" was, but not particularly caring. "Are you saying I imagined it? I am absolutely certain that I heard someone moving over there!" He started to rise, choking back sounds of pain as best as he could. Sniper’s hand was quick to fly onto the stubborn American’s shoulder, pushing him back down. Soldier wondered if punching the guy a second time might be justified.

"Alright, look- just sit down. Yer in worse shape than me. I'll go check the stairwell.” Sniper rose and handed back the Texan's metal canteen.

The older man felt his temper cool a bit, but didn't bother to ease off on his frown. That was one of his preferred expressions, anyhow. "Hmph. Fine, then." He watched as Sniper crossed the floor, broken glass crunching underfoot.

Behind them, the Administrator was still distracted with the radio. Miss Pauling must have overheard the discussion about strange noises, however, because she picked up a flashlight and approached the site of investigation. "Be careful, Mister Mundy. There's still smoke coming up from below..."

Sniper squinted down into the unlit stairwell. "I think I might see someone movin'...” He frowned and took a step back, reaching for his submachine gun. "Oi, Who's there?! Show yourself, ya wanker! ...or speak up, anyhow. I'll help as soon as I know you're not a bloody zombie."

From the darkness nearby, someone answered. His voice was barely audible, a piteous rasping sound—one of the wounded men who must had somehow dragged himself all the way up the stairs. "Jesus, you gotta' help me! Ah'm dyin'... the burns... it hurts so much..." Miss Pauling had just arrived on the scene; she gasped, and directed the flashlight's beam to where Sniper was tentatively descending the first step.

Watching from his place on the floor, Soldier felt a twinge of unease. He poured a little more water on Engineer's bandages and muttered, "You think they missed something down there, Engie?" There was no response, of course. The Texan was still down for the count. It felt better for Soldier to be talking to someone, though, even if it was someone who couldn't hear him.

With his SMG propped against his hip, Sniper disappeared into the alcove. "Miss Pauling, could ya shine the light that way for me? I heard the poor bastard speakin' from over there.” Sniper paused as he located his target. “Right, I see your hand there, mate. Just let grab—"

A short, sharp scream cut through the conservatory, electrifying the room's occupants. Soldier sat bolt-upright in spite of his pain. Scout shot up from the depths of sleep and crouched like a sprinter, looking left and right for trouble. Even the Administrator took notice. For that nerve-wracking moment, everyone knew that something was wrong, but nobody knew what it was.

Miss Pauling was responsible for the cry of alarm. She scrambled back in a hurry and dropped the flashlight, her eyes wide with shock. Sniper backtracked as well, struggling to break away from the man he'd been trying to help. With the submachine gun braced in the crook of his arm, he took aim and fired clumsily at his attacker, spitting curses. As the woman fished a chubby little Webley from under her jacket, the alcove suddenly lit up like a flashbulb. Sniper went rigid and gave a hoarse yelp, then was yanked forwards by the hunched figure emerging from the shadows.

Miss Pauling began shooting into the alcove and yelled, "Someone, get over here and help me! It's not- HE'S not going down!" Scout was quick to respond, scuttling across the debris-strewn floor to her aid.

Soldier moved upright, forcing his injured body into combat mode. Even if his threats were more powerful than his fists at that moment, he would not back down from a fight. Mustering all his strength, he began a plodding, painful trek towards the others, and bellowed, "Goddammit, what's going on in there?! Status report, private!"

Although Scout may not have heard Soldier's order, he did give a crude, babbling account. "Alright motherfucker, you're gonna—OH SWEET LADY ‘A MISERY! Is that Tex?! What’d you do ta my Sniper, you short sack of crap?!” Scout's Force-a-Nature went off with a resounding bark, and the advancing enemy went crashing back down the stairs.

Miss Pauling stammered, "The sniper... Is he dead? Where did he land?” She snagged her flashlight off the ground with a shaky hand, then began sweeping the debris on the landing below with its beam, searching for anything that looked human.

"I can't see shit...” The youth was fidgeting as though he badly wanted to grab the flashlight for himself, but couldn't spare a hand to do it. He needed both of them to handle the Force-a-Nature. “Wait, there's Sniper! ...he's still lyin' there. I guess he didn't die. Where'd that crazy fuckin' engineer end up?"

"Scout! Do you mean to tell me that the rebel group's engineer is still active?!" Lurching up behind them, Soldier stopped to catch his breath, and squinted down at the circle of light. Despite Miss Pauling's unsteady grasp on her flashlight, she managed to still the beam long enough to reveal Sniper, who lay in a battered heap at the foot of the stairs. His gun was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, yeah, duh. He's the guy who got the fuckin' super-secret puzzle door open for everyone. Didn't anyone bring you up to date?" The VTL aircraft's floodlight seemed to suck the colour out of Scout's face. Between the stark brightness and deep shadows, he looked gaunt with tension. "We just saw him down there. I'm sure it's him. But his body was... his skin, it... I d-don't know what the fuck I was seein'!" The flashlight finally centered on the man in question, and Scout's breath caught in his throat. "Is he movin'? Did I kill him?"

"I'm certain I managed to hit him at least once, but the bullets..." Miss Pauling bit her lip and stared at the odd, crumpled shape now appearing in the beam of her flashlight. It was a broken parody of a human, a patchwork of charred flesh and bone, mingling with a wrinkled, golden foil. Although his body was partly hidden, Soldier didn't really know what to make of the parts that were visible. A pair of goggles was soldered to the man's head with molten rubber. The material had also burned through skin and part of the nasal cartilage, leaving him with deep, almost syphilitic lesions. A network of gold veins intermingled with the ruins of the man's face. His chest had a dented appearance, like something had punched him so hard it left an impression. At the end of his right arm, a blackened stump of burned plastic was fused to the foil and bone. Two gleaming metal prongs emerged from the wrecked appendage, like a horribly inefficient version of Engineer's Gunslinger.

He moved.

It was a twitch at first, then a lurch. He disappeared out of sight, vanishing into the creeping shadows. Scout gave a girlish scream and stumbled back, nearly knocking over his injured teammate in the process. Moving with more caution but no less speed, Miss Pauling also put some distance between herself and the alcove. She pushed her flashlight into Soldier's hand, then hurriedly reloaded her pistol, speaking quietly and quickly as she did. "If a load of buckshot couldn't kill him, I'm not sure what will. We might be better evacuating our wounded to the jet and then trying to deal with him."

Glancing towards the buckshee medical station, Soldier realized that the only people who could move patients now were Miss Pauling and Scout. They'd have to do it one at a time. That Spy was nowhere to be seen. The Administrator was busy harping demands through her radio, seemingly off in her own world. Everyone was doomed to flounder in chaos without clear orders or goals. Soldier himself was the only person he saw as qualified to lead. He was going to have to take the reins.

There was a great deal about the situation that was unknown to him. This had never stopped the burly American from trying to take charge before, and it wouldn't stop him now. Gripping his shotgun in one hand, he levelled the flashlight with his other and glowered into the darkness. "You two. Get Engie the hell out of here. I'll handle this guy..."

They both stared at him for a moment, jaws practically dangling from their skulls. "Are you fuckin' shitting me, Sarge?" Scout spat, pawing at his scattergun.

Soldier bristled. "Negative! Tend to the wounded, goddammit, or our mission here will be in serious jeopardy!"

"Th- then here, take this. If I see him kickin' your ass, you fuckin' bet I'll be stepping in to help." The motormouth was clearly anxious. He was still determined, and that was reassuring for Soldier to see. He swapped his Force-a-Nature for the older man's shotgun, stuffed a handful of shells into Soldier's pocket, then trotted off to start moving the wounded.

"You'd better know what you're doing," was all Miss Pauling said, before she went to join Scout.

Soldier set down the flashlight and braced himself, clutching the powerful scattergun two-handed. His lips curled with contempt. "I know you're coming up, you bastard! You won't take me by surprise, mark my word!"

Sounds of scraping and shuffling had been the only sign of Tex's presence since he fled the spotlight. Soldier knew he couldn't be ambushed, not with the gulf of open space between him and the alcove. A strange, bubbly wheeze trickled up from the shadows. The disfigured madman rasped, "That bitch is still out there, isn't she. Shoulda' left when y'all—" Tex's voice died off for a moment, and he wheezed in another lungful of air. "—had the chance. She played her part. Did it more thorough than Ah expected, but... She shouldn't have slighted me! ME! The one who found this fuckin' thing in th'first place! ...I'm gonna' kill her. Gonna' kill that bitch. Get outta' my way, boy, or I'll hafta kill you too..."

"You talk tough, egghead, but I'll bet they didn't teach people to fight in your namby-pamby pantywaist university. Just try it, maggot! I'll crush you!" Soldier could hear the crunching and shuffling of people behind him, their words audible but not understood. He wasn't paying attention to anything but the distorted voice in the stairwell. Faint motion within the shadows would catch his eye, only to cease and reappear elsewhere. It was tempting to just start blasting and hope he hit something, but the pause to reload would be an opening. Patience was the only thing that might see him through this standoff, and it had never come easily to the mastiff-jawed mercenary.

As far as a half-dozen steps below the landing, the flashlight cut a swath into the alcove's darkness. It was here that the enemy suddenly crawled into sight with alarming speed. Tex's body was unnaturally positioned—legs spread wide, belly to the ground, catching the stairs with the edges of his boots. Soldier gave him both barrels.

The result of this was cause for great consternation in Soldier. Flattened against the ground as he was, Tex was only driven a few steps back down this time. Some of the pellets from Scout’s shotgun were embedded in a raw, charred patch of the man's shoulder, but the foil around it was just pockmarked. It only took a moment for him to shake off the impact, at which point he lunged forwards again. Soldier barely had time to reload in the interim. As he pulled the trigger a second time, a blinding flash erupted from the weapon fused to Tex's right arm.

Searing pain tore through Soldier's body, forcing a bloodcurdling scream from his lungs. He wasn't even certain the Force-a-Nature had discharged. All he knew for sure was that something terribly wrong was happening to his body, something that had cost him the power to move. The world pulled away from him as though he were being swallowed up by a black hole, sights and sounds reaching him through a long, thin tube. He drew one foot backwards as the universe spun ninety degrees on its side, then everything went dark.

Solly, no!

And Tex scares me. Like something out of the Terminator.

This story is fantastic! Much love.

Yeah, I'm thinking something like a supervillain-grade industrial accident here.

I've looked over this vignette so many times the words have stopped making sense. Blagh. That said, here's the next bit. It's considerably longer than the last one.
___________________________________

The lawn outside the conservatory wasn’t far enough to safeguard the wounded. Scout cringed as he spotted the monstrously deformed figure kicking Soldier's prone body, but he didn't dare drop his burden. It would be unwise to do that to his employer. Her glare wasn't enough to silence his overactive mouth, however; he began to yatter incessantly. "Fuck, Soldier's down! Aw man, that fuckin' asshole is kicking his ass across the floor. I gotta get over there and stop Tex! Don't you guys got any stronger weapons in the airplane? Anything?"

On the opposite end of the makeshift stretcher, Miss Pauling's face paled with concern. "There's the GAU-4, but I've never used one before. It should be strong enough...No, it HAS to be—”

A drawn-out sigh of irritation from their mutual employer cut her off. "Miss Pauling, there is no doubt in my mind that the enemy intends to kill me if he can get near enough. Our first priority is getting me aboard the aircraft so he won't have the chance. Keep moving."

Scout wanted to scream at her, but he was more frightened of the injured woman than he was of that freaked-out whack job in the conservatory. As he helped to carry the Administrator further from the fight, he could feel his guts turning to ice. They began the treacherous ascent of the gangway, and Scout's desperation reached its peak. "So, that gun you mentioned? Where is it? Just point me to it! I can handle anything! Seriously, I'm the only one left to kill that guy. Gimme that 'gow' thing and lemme at him!"

Miss Pauling blanched. "You don't understand. The GAU-4 is too big for you to carry."

"I done pretty good so far, haven't I?!" A gunshot echoed from the other side of the aircraft. Scout had absolutely no idea what was happening, but he was imagining some pretty horrible possibilities. "Just lemme give it a try!"

On reaching the inside of the plane, they set down the wooden pallet and Miss Pauling helped the older woman to a chair. If the situation had been calmer, Scout would have probably commented on the lavish decor, but right now he was only interested in one thing—locating a weapon that could kill the bastard who was attacking his teammates.

"So where is it? Huh? C'mon, I've gotta kill that son of a bitch!" His search had proven fruitless thus far, forcing him to return to the women. The assistant was busy securing the door behind them, which left him with the daunting proposition of asking the Administrator. "You gotta give me that super gun already! She said it'd take care of Tex!"

"If I had any other option right now, I would eject you from this aircraft myself. Fortunately for you, desperate times call for desperate measures." The Administrator rubbed her temples, and let out a frustrated hiss of air through clenched teeth. "Miss Pauling, it's time you learned to operate the GAU-4. If need be, the boy here can feed you ammunition."

"Wait, what? I wa—" Scout began to object, but he got the impression that he was being ignored by plane's other occupants. Even purposefully dismissed.

Miss Pauling said, "Yes ma'am," and hurried on by in the cockpit's direction. She turned into a niche just before the front of the plane and hauled a series of sliding panels out of the way. Underneath was a small console and a mounted Vulcan machine gun set into the underbelly of the plane.

Scout, who had scrambled to catch up with her, stared in surprise at the weapon in question. "Are you really gonna' use that?" he blurted, finally understanding why they couldn't just hand it over to him.

She frowned, operating the console for a moment. More panels moved, and an opening appeared before the GAU-4's business end. The floor lurched, then the entire combat station shifted slightly, rotating to accommodate the machine gun's aim. "I'm going to try. If you want to make yourself useful, stay out of the way until I ask for you."

It was shocking enough for Scout to see the tiny woman using any gun, let alone a beast that outweighed even Heavy's beloved Sasha. He was dumbfounded briefly, then the reality of the situation came back to slap him in the face. His teammates were in trouble! Inside the aircraft as he was, Scout could as yet do nothing to help them. Practically tearing his close-cropped hair out, he bolted to the cockpit and resigned himself to watching over the pilot's shoulder. Through the windscreen, he saw something that gave him an inkling of hope.

________________________


For the second time in twenty-four hours, Sniper found himself awakening from one of Tex's knock-out blows. Sliding down the stairs on his face had left him a bit rattled, but as he began dragging himself up out of the rubble, he discovered that none of his important bones had broken in the fall. He couldn't say so much for his bleeding nose, which had taken on a new and interesting shape. Head-to-toe pain and dull nausea were not enough to keep him down. Grimacing at the taste of blood in his mouth, Sniper began to crawl up the stairs.

In the room above, Tex was pitching a certifiable temper-tantrum. Sniper had only caught a glimpse of the guy when he'd made the mistake of trying to help him up the stairs, but whatever the traitor had done to himself, he seemed to be stronger for it. (And bloody bulletproof... At least against a 9-mil parabellum. That's just what I need right now, a bleeding Ned Kelly to deal with. My submachine-gun was no good. Doubt if I can stab the bastard either. Unless there's a gap in his armor...)

Fresh anger bubbled in Sniper's throat as he reached the top of the stairs and peered at the scene. Tex wasn't satisfied with screaming and hollering. He was venting his rage by viciously kicking and stomping on Soldier, who was curled-up before him on the glass-strewn floor. It was hard to tell if the larger man was conscious, but Sniper was hoping on some level that he wasn't. Just watching the madman's display of violence was painful.

Something brushed lightly against Sniper's shoulder, and he jerked in surprise. A familiar voice whispered in his ear: "Keep quiet, tête carré. Unless you want dat guy to t'row you down da stairs again."

Although his morose look was lost in the shadows, Sniper glared at the BLU Spy all the same. "I'll pass. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Same t'ing as you. ...well, no. I'm planning. You're just hiding." In the shadows, Spy was completely invisible. It felt like Sniper was talking to a specter.

Sniper couldn't stomach cowering while a teammate was being savaged. Besides, once Tex got bored with Soldier—or killed him, and lost his body to respawn—Engineer and the last bodyguard would be natural targets for the deranged genius's frustration. "Well, I'm not going to just lie here while he's running roughshod over me mates. I just need to figure out how to kill him. Or keep him busy. Can't let him near me... Bastard knocked me down with something. I think it was some sort of shock prod."

The shadows gave him a quick approving grunt. "I saw dat. He did da same t'ing to your jarhead. Dat weapon he's using has a little reach. Don't know how far. Small arms fire and buckshot just craters on him. What's your rifle use, .308?"

"Yeah. I could try linin' up a shot from here, but I'd rather have more distance between him an' me." Sniper reached back and slung the rifle off his back, grunting painfully from the effort. "If this doesn't work, he's gonna' come here and give both of us what Paddy gave the drum. You'd best split, if you're not about to make yourself useful."

A mere four meters from where they were hiding, Tex was taking a break from trampling the unconscious Soldier. He stood in amidst blood and broken glass, catching his breath. To Sniper, it looked like the man had cobbled himself together like some horrid golem. There were charred regions of his body that looked positively gruesome, even with the semi-opaque foil covering, but he hadn't sustained any individual wound that would kill a person. Pacing and turning under the floodlights, Tex's disfigured body was continuously caught between stark revelation and total obscurity. At one point, his back was illuminated. Sniper thought he saw a human hand embedded in the maniac's shoulder.

The cessation of Tex's ranting meant the men in the stairwell had to be much quieter or they'd be found out before either could do anything. While Sniper carefully lay out his rifle and prepared to take aim, he felt a faint gust and noted the chameleon had left his side. How the Canadian could cross the debris silently was anyone's guess. At that moment, Sniper had more important things to ponder.

As he lined up a shot for Tex's head, Sniper could hear the man hissing and growling to himself. "The plane. I've gotta go sabotage it. Rip out the landing gear... no- no, I need the plane. SHE'S the heart. Rip her out instead. Watch her heart beat in my hand. Dammit, if the mainframe wasn't down, Ah'd be able to reactivate my last sentries from here..."

It was senseless, really. Just the desperate scheming of a madman whose plans had gone awry, far beyond any eventuality he might have anticipated. Now Tex was going further down the rabbit-hole, grasping for purchase as his mind unraveled. The man's waning sanity didn't make him any less dangerous. On the contrary, he was probably more of a threat now that even he didn't know what he was going to pull next. Sniper didn't know if turning on the Administrator had been Tex's plan from the start, but he figured he'd worry about the madman’s motivations at a more convenient time.

A sliver of glass tinkled against one of the remaining windows, drawing the maverick's attention. With his back to the alcove, the floodlights made Tex a shooting gallery silhouette. Twenty points for the center of mass, fifty points for the head. Sniper always aimed for the head. At the last second his grip wavered, and the laser sight cast its red bead on the window his target was studying. The man stiffened his posture. He had seen the light.

Sniper felt his stomach clench in alarm, but the rest of his body reacted with perfect control. He steadied the Model 82 then let out a slow breath, calmly squeezing the trigger.

"What the-" Tex started. A sharp "crack!" interrupted him, and he went to the floor like a sack of garbage. There was no satisfying spray of brain matter, but a fine spattering of blood appeared on the window he'd been facing.

Lurching to his feet, Sniper slung the rifle back over his shoulder and emerged to investigate the body. There was a faint sound as the BLU Spy decloaked, breathing a sigh of relief. He seemed more tentative about approaching Tex. Sniper growled, "Get your arse over here! I don't want to leave Soldier near this bastard. We've got to move him."

"I'm not being paid to help you fucking guys," Spy drawled, and spat a burned-up cigarette onto the debris-strewn floor. Nevertheless, he must have felt some sort of pity or gratitude for Sniper, because he shuffled over and stooped to grab Soldier's ankles. Noticing the manner in which the American's trousers had been changed to cut-off shorts, he gave a snorting chuckle. "What da hell happened to his pants?"

As he gripped Soldier under the arms and lifted, Sniper's entire body cried out in protest. The only answer he could muster for Spy was an irritated groan. They hauled the other mercenary outside and set him down by Engineer. With that taken care of, Sniper began the painful trudge back into the conservatory, lighting a cigarette with the shaking hands of an octogenarian. Spy followed him at a distance.

"Bloody coward," he grumbled under his breath. Tex was still a motionless heap, which was somewhat reassuring. On discovering that there really was a hand embedded in the madman's shoulder, Sniper had second thoughts about getting close to the guy. (No, I have to know if he's dead. Have to know if we're safe now.) Wincing in pain, he crouched down and studied the body.

Most of the traitor's clothing had been shed or burned away. The remainder hadn't impeded his curious transformation. What little hair he'd possessed was gone as well, leaving a roughened surface in its place. Tex's cranium was covered in a film of golden material, oddly translucent in some places. Sniper's bullet flattened on impact. It was now a small lead mushroom with a brass stalk embedded in the back of his skull.

Sniper picked the thing out of its crater. A bit of blood pooled where it had been, and the bushman realized his shot must have succeeded in penetrating Tex's armor. "Can't even begin to guess what this bastard did to himself... Oh well, I managed to punch a hole in his defense. That gold foil he's got on him is really tough. Wonder if it's made from Australium?"

Intrigued by the news that Tex had taken damage, Spy dared to come closer. "I'm sure someone can figure it out. Medic would probably love to dissect da guy. ...my team's medic, I mean. Well, probably yours too. Roll him over. You should check if he's still breathing."

"Would it kill you to do a little work?" Sniper gave his nemesis the evil eye. He kneeled carefully amidst the broken glass and heaved the misshapen figure onto its back. He couldn't stop himself from recoiling or giving a cry of disgust at the sight of Tex's face.

Sniper found his eyes drawn to the raw, red cavities in Tex's nose—metal had crept in around the edges of these perforations, forming a network of filaments that intermingled with the charred ruin of his mucus membranes. Metallic foil formed a lattice over the man's features, seemingly replacing skin that would have been badly damaged in the fire. Much of the external ear was burned away, and what remained had collapsed inwards, sealing over the earholes.

"Fuck! I thought I'd imagined that bloody mess," Sniper groaned. As the marksman paused to rub his eyelids, he once again found himself thinking of pulp horror stories. The sensation of prickling claws ran down his spine, conjuring awful images of ghouls, night gaunts and fungaloid crabs. (This is going to give me bloody nightmares, I know it is. Just like all the ones I used to have about the respawn system going haywire.)

Spy made a sound usually reserved for the onlookers of catastrophic car wrecks. "I've seen guys who looked dat bad before, but dey didn't survive long. Must've been one hell of an accident down in dat lab, eh?"

Tex's mouth hung slackly open. Against his better judgment, Sniper leaned in close to see if he could feel warm air coming from within. Although the rogue Engineer's lips had been burned dry and then gilded, everything beyond them was unchanged. Despite his outward transformation, Tex still had the mouth of someone who hadn't brushed his teeth in weeks. While Sniper examined the Texan's golden death-mask for signs of life, he was assaulted by a hot, rather fetid breath of air. Turning his head to one side, he coughed and managed to choke out, "I think he's still breathing!"

Spy snapped, "So kill him! What da hell are you waiting for, a Goddamn engraved invitation?"

The BLU agent's remark was met with another irate growl from Sniper. "I can’t snake my bloody rifle down his gullet! Here, if you're worried about getting your hands dirty, lend me that Browning. I'll finish him off. His mouth ain't bulletproof."

"I'm not giving you my gun! Hmph, crisse des REDs..." As Spy circled around to Tex's right side so as to deliver the coup de grace, the American's face tensed into a furious scowl. [His fingers clamped with a steely grip around Sniper’s throat. He thrashed the Australian into the ground, smashing his head onto the filthy floors.] The sudden movement was enough to rattle Spy. Fearful of being electrocuted, he backed up to a safe distance and started considering alternative plans.

When he lifted his head and spoke, Tex sounded a little slurred. "Ah've got 'n awful bad headache... Wazzat you, y'mangy son of a bitch?!" If the bullet had done any serious damage to his brain, it had failed to keep him down. Grinning at his victim, he sneered, "I'll teach you t'ambush me, peckerhead. Watchin' you die is gonna be reeeeeal satifyin'."

Sniper writhed under his grasp, snarling and snapping like a chained animal. He smashed every part of Tex he could reach with his boot-heels. Both of Sniper's hands were clawing to dislodge the enemy's iron grip; for a brief second in he pried the thumb off his trachea. Sniper gasped for air, knowing the small breath wouldn't sustain him for long. With every cell in his body screaming out for oxygen, Sniper couldn't fight like this much longer.

Tex tightened his hold on the Australian's neck and tried to avoid the clumsy assault, growling in pain with each blow he suffered. “Useta strangle critters like you. Squeeze 'em til their eyes popped out.” He slammed Sniper's head into the corner of a low table, his eyes wild with rage and excitement. “That’s all y'are at the end of the day, ya snarlin' dog. Just another helpless critter. You're all teeth and no bite, boy.”

Throughout this, Spy hadn’t been noticed. He used that to his advantage. The crater on the left side of Tex's skull would have been a good target, had he been perfectly still. Spy couldn’t aim that fast, though, and the Québécois knew that time was running out. (Goddammit! If I had a heftier weapon like that Force-a-Nature, I'd at least be able to knock his ass to the ground.) He brooded, watching as Tex wrestled out from under Sniper's heels and rose from the floor. The bushman's struggles were much weaker. All he could manage was scrabbling at Tex's hand, his purple-tinged lips twisted into a grimace.

Spy realized that he didn't need a scattergun to clobber Tex with raw kinetic force. Even in its devastated condition, the conservatory was still stocked with a workshop's worth of heavy tools and furniture. Spy grabbed a wheeled chair. Summoning all his strength, he gave the object a mighty swing and lobbed it at Tex. It collided with the madman's spine; completely unprepared for such an attack, Tex was thrown off his feet and went crashing down on top of his victim.

Tex's grip slackened just enough for Sniper to wrench the hand from his throat. Coughing and gagging, he squirmed out from beneath the other man. He rolled onto his belly, hitching in choked breaths to restore his waning consciousness. Beside him, Tex groaned and began to stir.

Seeing that maverick was nearly still, Spy now took his Browning and aimed carefully for the bullseye Sniper had created. Tex reached up to clutch the back of his head just then, inadvertently protecting the breach in his armor. A jolt of alarm shot through Spy. He couldn't afford to lose this chance. On spotting an upside-down table, he realized that once again, the best weapon with reach was going to be furniture. Spy scooted over and wrapped his hands around the cool metal legs, then heaved the whole thing up off the floor. He staggered forwards and slammed its flat top down onto Tex. He was rewarded with a gurgle of pain. He repeated the action several more times, all the while wishing the glass shards could penetrate the Australium film on Tex's body.

Barely clear of the weaponized table, Sniper struggled to his knees. His breath came hoarsely, every gasp of air accompanied by a loud rattle. He was smeared with blood, but the countless bleeding wounds were little more than scratches. Frowning at the mess he'd made of himself, he took a deep breath and lurched to his feet, giving a faint groan as dizziness washed over him. When he spoke, he sounded like someone with shards of glass in his throat; his voice came out halting and pained. "Agh... ah God. G-gonna need a week's rest... after this. Think y' hurting him, spook?"

"Fuck, I hope so," came the weary reply. The table fell for the last time and lay there upside down, on top of the enemy. Sore and weak with exhaustion, Spy's arms flopped down at his side, he stepped back and caught his breath. "You wanna try pinning him down? His mout' and da hole in his head are da best targets we've got. Put a couple rounds in dere, and I'm pretty sure he won't be getting up."

The table shuddered, a sign that Tex was already regaining his senses. Sniper gave a painful cough, then shook his head, eyebrows knitted in concern. "We're not strong enough. Agh... when he choked me, didn't feel right... never felt the like before..."

"What, you get strangled on a regular basis, tête carré? I didn't know your Spy was into dat." The BLU agent grinned perversely, watching Sniper's face redden with anger.

"I'm not involved w-! Gah, why the hell'm I even-?" Trying to calm his temper, as well as the paranoid unease tightening his guts, he huffed and pointed towards the shifting table. "Bastard's stronger'n he looks. Could've crushed my neck... to th' width of a bloody carrot.”

Although tempted to continue needling his rival, Spy's focus returned to the present. "Well how about we pile a bunch of shit on top of dat table and just keep heaping on more until we see his guts oozing out from underneat'?"

For all the contempt he directed at Spy, the sharpshooter wouldn't ignore a good plan. "Right," he snapped and began dumping nearby objects onto the table. Tools, twisted metal, furniture—anything they could lift was thrown on top of the rouge monster. A crunching sound came from beneath the pile. Sniper paused, his breath ragged. His eyes widened as the heap of objects began shifting. A moment later, the stacked debris went flying in all directions as Tex threw off his burden. The other two men scrambled away, leaving their opponent in the center of the room.

Tex bellowed, "Come outta hiding, ya fuckin' cowards! Damn you!”

The Texan's spine had been crudely adjusted during the others' attempt to crush him. He now stood hunched like Quasimodo, looking even more gnarled than before. Turning around in search of his attackers, Tex threw his back to the floodlights. From his hiding place Sniper, could see something that vexed him, even more than weariness and pain. On the left side of Tex's occipital plate, a black, bulging scab had formed over the gunshot wound, its revolting surface scintillating with flecks of Australium.

Sniper bit his tongue hard to keep himself from cursing loudly. Crouched behind a heap of scrap metal, he lowered his head and emitted a glob of bloody drool, then struggled to plan his next move. (Oh, this is a real piece of piss. Where did everyone else disappear to? I don't think we can take this freak, not just the two of us. We need someone with more firepower, something that'll shoot more bullets harder than anything either of us has. What the fuck are we going to do?)

Through the myriad broken windows, a mechanical whine pierced the night. The sound was curiously reminiscent of something, but Sniper couldn't quite recall what. (It can't be the jet getting ready to take off, or we'd be getting another bloody windstorm right now.) He wasn't the only one feeling curious. As he peered out from his hiding place, Sniper could see that Tex had turned to look at the aircraft. The little man suddenly emitted a weird shriek and lunged away like his ass had caught fire.

A split second later, a torrent of gunfire gushed through the window in search of the madman. Tiles became glassy shrapnel, metalworking tools and furniture were chewed up instantly, while the hardest debris sent deadly ricochets hurling off in all directions. The barrage followed Tex for a few meters as he ran, destroying everything in its path. Then whirring stopped as suddenly as it had began, leaving the conservatory's occupants cowering in the wreckage.

Lying face-down on the floor, Sniper had traded dignity for life and limb. While he began picking himself up, a second, unexpected noise came to his ears. It was a voice, slightly distorted through the P.A. system.

Scout's voice.

At a volume that was almost ear-splitting, he shouted, "Whooo, fuckyeah! THAT'S what I'm talkin' about!"

Sniper never thought he'd feel so reassured to hear his youngest teammate's dulcet tones.

What a terrifying and fantastic chapter! Tex is something out of nightmares. I also like how pragmatic BLU Spy is. Just throw furniture at the problem.

I really loved this chapter, it was great :)

I also like take two of the other chapter much better than the original version, I'm glad you decided to revise it.

This bloke is scaring me so much...
I could perfectly imagine what he would look like, and it's definitely not a nice sight.

This post has been deleted.

Seems like this thread's stopped moving up (I guess the mark is 210 posts, and not 200), so I blew away the latest update and made a new threat for it. That, along with the final part and epilogues, will be here: http://tf2chan.net/afanfic/res/12227.html