...I like where this is going.

Go on...

Never enough of these two, never!

A promising start you have there! I hope you'll be back, maybe with an even longer chapter?

And now, time for moar. The installations I post might be a little short at first; I'm further into writing the story than this, but I'm always paranoid about losing my motivation for a few days and being caught leaving the thread to hang. That said, here's the next bit.
____________________________

A bucket of ice sat on the rickety table, beside a tumbler emblazoned with beach umbrellas, an overflowing ashtray, and two diminishing bottles – one of tonic water, one of Tanqueray. Reaching over unsteadily with a long, tanned arm, the RED Sniper scooped out some ice with the glass, then filled it with a lot more gin than tonic. Even before the mix could be chilled, he was pounding it back, grimacing slightly at the taste of warm liquor.

“Bleedin' mozzies,” he growled.

The tropical heat had eased off since sunset, but as he lounged on the balcony of his shabby hotel room and watched the city lights spread out below him, he was not in a good mood. He could have drawn up a list of things that were pissing him off right now, but at that very moment, it was the mosquitoes. The dossier on the RED team's upcoming mission hadn't mentioned a risk of malaria in this part of the Caribbean, but after his near-death experience in Bali some years ago, the Australian was feeling paranoid. Medic had chidingly informed him there wasn't enough quinine in regular tonic water to prevent the disease, but that wasn't going to stop him from spending the evening like this.

Sniper slapped at a mosquito, and missed. He put his glass down so he'd have both hands free for dealing with the next one, but forgot about the insects when there was a knock at the room's door. Turning to look back over his shoulder, he bawled, “Jus' open the bloody thing, it's not locked!”

Scout entered the room and made his way over to the balcony, scrambling across the two double beds like a little kid. “Teach me ta remember my fuckin' manners,” he drawled, rolled his eyes and leaned against one of the open French doors.

Sniper looked blearily over the rim of his aviators, frowning at the younger man. He straightened up a little in his seat, picking a half-smoked cigarette from the ashtray and reviving it with a silver lighter that lay nearby. The RED Spy's lighter. “In case you 'aven't noticed, Scout, I'm tryin' ta get pissed right now. What the hell d'you want?”

“Geeze, y'know what? This is why everyone thinks you're a fuckin' asshole, man. I come all the way here ta ask you out for some-” Scout drew some twirls in the air with his index finger, “-healthy social interaction with other human beings, and you act like I'm bein' a horrible fuckin' pain in your ass or somethin'. Seriously, what's your major malfunction?”

“Ask me for what?” The humid evening air and the booze were conspiring to make Sniper's head throb painfully. He might have debated Scout's assertions about his behavior, but speaking clearly took too much effort right now.

Scout gestured towards the scintillating town below. “A bunch of us are gonna go out and get fuck drunk or watch fire-eaters or, I dunno, some crazy fuckin' thing. Whatever people do for kicks around here. We're in the motherfuckin' tropics, man! You really wanna' spend the night alone, moping over a bottle of that bad-tasting crap?”

It was Sniper's turn to roll his eyes. “This ain't the first time I've spent a night in some shitty equatorial backwater, mate. ...anyhow, I'm not bloody moping. Just wanna be unconscious by the time my fuckin' roommate turns up.”

The American glanced over his shoulder at the room, and spotted a neat leather attaché case on the bed by the door. There was only one member of the team who carried that in place of a rucksack or a trunk, when they were traveling. “Oh... you got stuck with Lame Bond, huh?”

Sniper grunted, and blew a jet of smoke from his nose. Scout shrugged, and headed for the door. “Suit yourself, chucklenuts. I'll bring back one of them teeny cocktail umbrellas for you, how about that?”

In spite of himself, the sharpshooter chuckled a little. “Right, then. ...'ave fun out there.”

“Fuckin' A,” Scout said, grinning, then left Sniper to himself.



Hours later, Sniper stirred as a cool night breeze wafted over him, cooling his sweat-slicked body and prompting him to tug his shirt closed. He was still slouched in his wicker armchair, and before his eyes had opened he was already reaching for the ice bucket. Something about its weight was a little funny, but he only realized the contents had melted when he fumbled with it and splashed himself.

“Gah! Oh, f'God's sakes... bah, fuggit. Don't need ice.” Sniper set to work pouring himself a warm gin and tonic, and had already half-drained his glass before he noticed he had company on the balcony.

The RED team's Spy sat on the other side of the table, smoking and reading some papers by the dim light of a wall sconce. He didn't look up, but cleared his throat a bit and spoke. “I see you are awake, Mssr. Mundy. You didn't want to enjoy ze local night-life with ze others?” Sniper grumbled into his tumbler, and chugged the rest of the liquor. Spy sniffed distastefully. “We could be called out into ze field as soon as morning, you know. You and I. 'ow will you be able to perform with a damned 'angover?”

“...'s gonna' take a couple hours t'ride out, ain't it? Tha's... nngh, sleep it off on't way... dunno how t'pilot a bloody helicopter, anyway... 'f it were a bush plane, sure, but...” Sniper let his glasses fall into his lap, and rubbed his eyes for a moment, feeling very much like he wanted to shove the bucket over Spy's head and throw him from the balcony. It wouldn't be the first time he'd tossed Spy from a high place. With the nearest respawn machine being hundreds of miles away, though, killing him right now would delay the whole operation. Sniper groaned irritably and abandoned the idea.

Spy finally looked across the table, nonplussed. Sniper knew the chameleon was still infatuated with him, even after that brawl they'd gotten into, but Spy didn't have any patience for him when he was drunk – not when there was nothing Spy was trying to get out of him, anyhow. “Just go to bed, mon chou, and I will worry about ze task ahead of us.”

Although tempted to just keep on drinking, fatigue and alcohol were grinding Sniper like a millstone, crushing his urge to be defiant, or really do anything that didn't involve assuming a horizontal position as soon as possible. With very deliberate movements, he dropped his glasses on the table, then rose from his chair and groped along the wall for support until he could reach a bed. The Australian toppled over and began snoring almost immediately, his gangly limbs half-draped off the edge of the mattress.

Hehehehe I like this.

Please continue.

I'm intrigued, and looking forward to the next chapter :)

I have one question, though. When Sniper thought that killing Spy would delay the whole operation, was that because he would die for real and the team would have to find a new spy, or because he'd respawn very far away and they'd have to wait for him to get back?

Simply mentioning that the nearest respawn machine is very far away is pretty vague. Respawn is very heavily hinted to work in canon, but its details are pretty much fanon, and different fics follow different rules (for example, some fics state that the characters can only come back to life if they die within a certain distance from the base, others that it gets shut off after ceasefire); I can't tell what rules your fic is following exactly.

Since respawn is an extremely important detail, I think it should be cleared up. The vast majority of the suspence in any action/adventure story rests on the question "are the characters going to survive?"

The prologue showed that something extremely shady is going on, and mercenaries are getting murdered. I'm going to assume that there is going to be some deadly serious business in the next chapters. So, in order for us readers to get as much suspense out of the story as possible, we need to know in what circumstances our heroes could die a permanent death.

Ah, I'll clarify- the idea (here at least) is that respawn would pick him up soon after his death, more or less. The problem is that the nearest respawn location is hundreds of miles away in the southern US, while the team is somewhere in the far reaches of the Caribbean. He'd have to travel a long way to rejoin his team-mates if Sniper were to throw him off a balcony.

As for the circumstances of the other demoman's death, and what it means for our heroes, I won't tell you yet. It will be answered over time. ;)

Now, a modest serving of fluff.
_______________________________

Sniper awoke to a whole new world of discomfort. As he winced in the morning light and groggily assessed the situation, one desperate feeling seemed to overshadow all the others, even the thundering headache and stomach-clenching nausea of his severe dehydration. Averting his eyes from the dazzling scenery outside the balcony doors, he clambered to an upright position, then trudged to the dismal little bathroom alcove and unzipped his fly. The peace of mind that came with relieving himself afforded Sniper the chance to meditate on his situation.

(Nobody came to kick me out of bed, that means we're not heading off just yet.) By “we”, he meant himself and Spy. They were slotted for the first ride out to the mission site, where they were supposed to secure a staging area for the others. As much as he loathed to be paired off with Spy, Sniper couldn't deny that they were best suited for the job. Both men were experts at keeping a low profile, and between his survival experience and Spy's unique talents, they were the ideal men to infiltrate a jungle area and neutralize any immediate threats. (Would've liked more intel on this plantation we're gonna capture,) he thought ruefully. The file had mentioned plenty about the region's rich history, but had neglected to mention the strategic value of the old estate, or even how long the BLU company had been in the area. (It's a bloody banana farm that's been derelict for years, on an island that's far from anything remotely resembling human civilization. I suppose I shouldn't expect there to be anything more to it than another pissing contest for our employers, but this is too dodgy for my taste. The whole place could be booby-trapped by now, and if any one of us gets offed by those bastards, he'll be out of the game for days.)

He slouched against the wall and flushed the toilet, drowning out the sound of the room's door opening. Still brooding about the task ahead, Sniper turned and found himself looking at the sink; as he reached to turn on the water, a sing-song voice startled him.

“Bonjour, sunshine! I 'ear you are finally awake?”

Sniper flinched in surprise, jerking the tap wide open and soaking his shirtfront with the backsplash. “Jesus Christ, do ya hafta sneak up on me like that?!” he snarled, fumbling at the sink.

The Frenchman sounded vaguely amused. “Oh, don't raise a fuss just because you're a little slow zis morning. I brought you something.”

When he emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, Sniper had his best irritable glare prepared for Spy, and was surprised when he found a mug of coffee thrust at him. He took hold of it and blinked stupidly, then mumbled, “...was kinda' expecting a prank or something...”

Spy wrinkled his nose, and sat down to study the dossier again. “Is it so 'ard to say a word of gratitude? We are leaving in two hours, so drink zat and get yourself together. Zere is much work ahead of us.”

“R- right, I'll get changed. ...er, thanks.” It occurred to Sniper that this would be a bad time for Spy to slip him anything, aside from pain-killers or amphetamines. He slumped down on his bed and started on the coffee, only looking up when he heard a knock at the door. “C'mon in,” Sniper said roughly, feeling too lethargic to get up and open it himself.

Spy, on the other hand, did rise to open the door, then stepped back nervously when he saw who was there. It was Engineer, carrying a mug of coffee in each hand.

Sniper brightened up at the sight of the little guy, despite the pain that was rampaging inside of his skull. “G'morning, mate! 'ere, come sit by me.” He patted the space beside him on the mattress, feeling infinitely grateful for Engineer's friendship.

Engineer gave Spy a chilly look through his goggles, then ambled over to where Sniper was seated and set one of the mugs down, before settling himself beside the taller man. “Howdy, Stretch. I missed ya last night. A little birdie told me you were busy drinkin' yourself stupid in here.”

“...you know how I am sometimes. I just wasn’t in th' mood for anyone's drunken bullshit but my own. Saved you the trouble of draggin' me back here, didn't I?” Sniper sighed into the coffee from Spy, then put an arm around Engineer's shoulder and squeezed him, managing a weak grin. “Besides, I'd be worse off now if I 'ad Demoman to encourage me.”

“Guess I had enough to deal with,” Engineer said wearily, resting his head on the Australian's collarbone and reaching for the ashtray on the nightstand. He was looking a little peaked himself, and Sniper suspected he'd done his own share of drinking the night before.

A pang of guilt jabbed at Sniper's chest, and he tried to ignore it for a moment, before deciding to just handle it in his own way. He drained his first mug, then pushed it away and fished two cigarettes from his pocket. A book of matches in the ashtray provided a light, and Sniper passed one of the smokes to his friend. “...there ya go, Truckie. Always helps me get my strength back.”

Engineer seemed to relax as he smoked, and eventually smiled up at the marksman. Spy's presence in the room didn't stop the small displays of affection between them; paradoxically, the rogue was the only member of the team that they weren't hiding their relationship from. Sniper wondered if this was the Texan's own way of gloating at Spy, and was entertained by the thought.

Although tempted to lie down with Engineer and nap a while, Sniper knew he was better off psyching himself up for the mission. He found himself wishing for something stronger than caffeine. (Maybe one of those weird little pills the Doc' gave us, that one time. Those were bloody fantastic. ...shame we couldn't bring along more than basic supplies for this job.)

As he longed for Medic's stash of methamphetamines, Sniper stubbed out his cigarette and snuggled closer to Engineer. He was rewarded with a half-hearted shove from the little guy, whose mouth creased in a bit of a smirk. “C'mon now, you got no time for foolin' around this morning. Yer shipping out first, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah... I was just bein' a pest, I know we're both too bloody hung-over to make it right now.” Sniper grinned and brushed the back of his hand against Engineer's stubbly cheek, turning the bashful American's ears red.

From his own place on the other bed, Spy cleared his throat. “A word, gentlemen?”

Engineer grunted irritably. “Got two words for you, Frenchie, and they ain't 'happy day'.” Sniper, on the other hand, just sighed and nodded at their team-mate.

Frowning, Spy set the file down and turned to face the others. “I realize we 'ave been in ze same cohort for quite some time, so I don't expect you to know anything zat I would not, but... zis plantation, 'ave either of you fought zere before? 'eard mention of it, even?”

“Probably can't tell ya much more'n we learned at the briefing,” Engineer said, sounding marginally less sour. “I know the island it's on is smack-dab in the middle of a devil's triangle.”

Sniper suddenly perked up, his sharp eyes widening with intrigue. “Like that one off Bermuda? I read an article 'bout that in a magazine, real queer stuff. Said it might be foo-fighters makin' those ships vanish out there.” As the other two stared at him in disbelief, he hastily added, “N-not that I believe everything I read. Just makes for an interesting story, y'know?”

Engineer chuckled. “Yeah, I've seen those magazines you read. Anyhow, Weird Tales aside, there's somethin' about the area that can make modern technology go strange. Wasn’t a problem back when everyone was usin' sailboats, but when people started relyin' on radios and diesel engines to get around, they stopped bein' able to pass through there safely.”

“What about ze 'elicopters we'll be using for transportation? Will zey be affected?” Spy was letting more tension show than he probably wanted to, although his concerns were legitimate. Engineer looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged helplessly.

“We'll hafta' find that out the hard way. Worst comes to worse, we'll just hafta give up on this outpost. ...can't say it'd be much of a loss, all things considered. But with the BLUs there, I reckon our employers want us takin' a crack at it.”

“Ain't that just peachy.” Sniper felt the urge to brood coming on, and ignored it best as he could. Having Engineer at his side made it easier, and after a moment he found himself feeling more devil-may-care about the situation. “Well, I knew I was in for this sort of nonsense when I signed up for the job. Even if we're bein' payed to fight a pointless war, we're still bein' paid.”

Engineer sighed, then managed a wry smile. “Hell, Slim, you always make it sound so easy to swallow when you put it like that. I guess I'll just cross my fingers an' hope our machinery does its job.”

“Yes, laborer, you just prepare your little machines for ze fight ahead. We will 'ave ze site ready by ze time you arrive, safe and sound.” Spy's lips tightened around his cigarette, his usual smugness leaking through the polite exterior he'd been wearing recently. After patiently suffering Engineer's glares and snide remarks, he probably couldn't help himself.

The American snorted, frowning again, but didn't gratify Spy with a response. A knock at the door broke the awkward silence, and Sniper scrambled to his feet, trying his best to look cool and alert. He realized he was missing an important tool for perfecting his demeanor, and lunged for the balcony doors. “Be right there!” he exclaimed, before retrieving his aviators from where he'd left them the night before. As an afterthought, he grabbed the bottle of gin as well, and slipped it into his rucksack.

Before Spy had opened the door, Scout's voice was already clearly audible from the hallway. “The fuckin' call's just come in! You bums are shipping out, pronto! Get your crap together an' head to the lot out back, that's where they're pickin' you up!”

Spy sounded indignant. “Who's picking us up? When we were briefed, I was informed zat I would be piloting ze 'elicopter. Nobody informed me zere was a change in plans!”

“Maybe your license expired or somethin'? How the fuck am I supposed ta know, faggot? Just get your ass out there, the rest of us are gonna be waitin' on you guys!”

As Scout and Spy traded barbs, Sniper turned to face Engineer, his back to the others. He peered over his dark glasses and gave a reassuring smile, reaching down to bump his fist against the mechanic's shoulder. “See ya soon, Truckie. Scout's honor.”

Engineer pried his goggles off, and gazed gently at the Australian. “I'll be countin' on that, Slim. Go on, give 'em hell out there.”

At the end there I expected some quip about how much honor Scout has.

11
Eh, I considered it, but couldn't think of anything that was simultaneously succinct, witty, and cute enough to work.

>>11
Scout's mother's honour.
There, fixed it for you.

I'm really enjoying this story.

Poor Scootma... I think Engie's enough of a gentleman that he wouldn't knock on another guy's mother, even if the purpose of it was pissing off Spy. Sniper would, though.

And now things get fun. The Iroquois was produced by Bell from the 50's on, and although its designation changed from HU-1 to UH-1 at some point, the nickname "Huey" stuck, to the point Bell even put it on their anti-torque pedals. It's the helicopter you use while listening to "Ride of the Valkyries".
________________________
An hour later, Spy found himself studying the map of the island for the tenth or eleventh time. It was either that or watch the glittering ocean outside, which, beautiful as it was, had quickly become a boring sight. He turned his eyes to the front seat of their ride, which had turned out to be an UH-1 Iroquois, painted up with the RED company logo; piloting the Huey was an unremarkable man in a red jumpsuit, his face mostly hidden by a helmet and sunglasses. Sniper had called shotgun, and fallen asleep almost as soon as they were in the air, which left Spy the rest of the aircraft to mope around in.

Their destination was visible on the horizon, a jagged green shape protruding from the vast ocean. According to the map, there was a clearing near the old plantation, which had once dominated much of the lowlands. Now much of that area was overgrown with dense jungle, leaving only a few places where they could touch down. The docks that once serviced the island had collapsed, and jagged reefs made the whole place too treacherous for a beach landing. (Given the speed with which they arranged this, I suppose helicopters are our safest option. An air drop might have been better than touching down, though. They've told us so fucking little about what's there, I don't know what to expect.) The absence of any parachutes in the chopper was gnawing at him.

He leaned over the front seat and yelled in Sniper's ear. “Wake up, you fool, we 'ave almost arrived!” Sniper's eyes opened abruptly, and he gave a yelp of surprise that was very satisfying to the masked man.

Sniper looked back and said something that was drowned out by the sound of the Huey. He seemed to realize this, and frowned before repeating himself at a greater volume. “Keep your bleedin' trousers on, I'm awake! Oi, how soon are we landing?!”

“E.T.A. twelve minutes!” The pilot answered, completely focused on the controls. “When this thing touches down, you'll have thirty seconds to get out and head for cover! I repeat, you'll have thirty seconds to vacate the aircraft when we reach the landing site! Don't dawdle!”

The Australian's reply went unheard over the din, and he shouldered his rucksack, then set to work studying the island ahead. It appeared to grow rapidly as they approached, and something made Sniper's mouth twist into a grim, fanged snarl.

Spy narrowed his eyes. “What?! What are you looking at down zere?!”

Sniper's response wasn't reassuring. “Smoke! ...look there, in the trees! That's bloody wreckage, it is!” The ocean below them had been replaced by a sea of thick foliage, and amidst the trees hung the ruined husk of another helicopter. Its paint job was smoldering away, but a flash of light blue caught Spy's eye. To his left, their pilot was speaking into his headset.

“We have, uhh- we have confirmed visual contact with a downed enemy copter! ...unknown, I- I would estimate sometime in the last hour! ...also unknown! Too damaged to determine the cause! ...roger, proceeding to the landing zone!”

Although he maintained his frosty exterior, Spy could feel his guts tighten at this discovery. (I don't know about that devil triangle shit, but either something here caused that aircraft to fail... or it was shot down.) Neither possibility said good things about what was to come. As the clearing where they were to touchdown came into sight, a flash of light from among the trees caught his eye. In the split second it took him to realize what it was, Spy had reflexively huddled to the floor and dug his fingers into the seat back. “WE'RE UNDER FIRE!” he shouted, at the top of his lungs.

Then the world turned to chaos.

The Huey lurched violently as it was struck by a rocket barrage, which tore open the driver's side, and reduced the pilot to a bloody mess that coated much of the interior. Smoke filled the cockpit; as he watched Sniper scramble desperately for the controls, Spy noticed the seat was starting to burn. He also noticed that they were losing altitude at an unsettling rate. A voice sounded above the damaged helicopter's roar, Sniper's voice, and Spy took a moment to digest his words.

“GET READY TO BAIL OUT!” he had yelled.

Spy wanted to point out the lack of parachutes, but they were too close to the ground for a safe jump anyhow. Gripping a headrest with all his might, Spy wrenched the Huey's right-hand door open. As the clearing expanded alarmingly fast below them, a sudden onset of g-forces sent blinding pain through his legs, and he was sure his ankles were going to snap. Then the white light cleared from his eyes, and Spy realized that his teammate had managed to slow their descent. Just outside the open door, he could see the tops of tropical plants, flapping about in the powerful breeze. A bird of paradise flower bobbed before his eyes. Fighting every part of him that was trying to freeze up in panic, Spy clutched his attaché case and jumped from the helicopter.

He discovered the ground was further down than he thought – about three meters – and landed in a clumsy roll, trying to minimize any injuries from the fall. Ignoring the protest of his joints, Spy broke into a mad dash, only to throw himself to the ground as the Huey came crashing down behind him. He raised his head a moment later, not completely convinced it was safe; he felt silly for having expected an explosion. (I have to get us out of here, and fast. Sniper! Where the hell is he?!)

The propeller was still turning as Spy slunk around the smoking chopper, but its engine had cut out, reducing the noise to a lethargic whine. The smoldering, gore-splashed cockpit was empty, which didn't surprise him; one way or another, Sniper must have already left the aircraft. Creeping under the cover of smoke and tattered plants, Spy snagged one of his shoes against something and toppled over in a heap. The something was Sniper. He seemed to be unconscious, but responded groggily as Spy began hauling him to an upright position.

“...gotta radio back,” the Australian mumbled, finding his footing in the undergrowth. Spy steered him around the downed helicopter and towards the trees.

“If ze radio is still working, we will 'ave to worry about it later,” Spy hissed. “Whoever did zis knows where we are right now- we 'ave to find cover, 'ave to get ze fuck away from 'ere.”

Sniper grimaced as his senses started returning. He nodded stiffly to Spy, his mouth drawn in a tense frown. “Right, y- you're right. Keep your 'ead down- we’ll be sitting ducks if this smoke blows away.” They hurried away from the landing sight, and had just reached the edge of the forest when a second cluster of rockets found the Huey.

Now, Spy got the explosion he'd been half-expecting. The only forewarning they had was a faint whistling noise, then a white flash; the propeller came flying over their heads, taking Sniper's hat with it. They both dove for the ground as a hail of shrapnel flew at them, miraculously avoiding any serious wounds in the process. (Just a whiff of grapeshot,) he thought, and crawled the rest of the way, only stopping when he found himself and Sniper were well under cover.

“The top- the top of my head, you see it anywhere?” Sniper mumbled, pawing about frantically. He seemed kind of shaken by the demise of his Akubra.

Spy sighed, then groaned. In the absence of flesh-rending peril, he was starting to feel the sting of tiny shards in his back and the grinding ache in his shins. “You didn't get scalped back zere, stop fussing about it. And pull yourself together, we 'ave to be on ze lookout for traps.”

After warily examining a nearby tree, Sniper drew himself up into a crouch and leaned against it, letting his head sink forwards onto his knees. “Right. My rucksack might've taken some of that shrapnel. Gotta check my weapons for damage, soon as we find shelter. Lemme get my knife out, I'll use it for now.” Sniper fished his trusty kukri out of the pack, then settled it back on his shoulder and finally took a good look at the pair's surroundings.

“See anything?” Spy asked, peering about suspiciously. He knew plenty about disarming booby traps, but his experience with them was limited to more civilized venues. Even dark, bombed-out ruins lacked the clutter of the jungle, and each patch of sunlight that made it through the canopy was a dazzling distraction to his eyes. Though he hated to admit it, the bushman was more suited to this assignment than he was. Spy gave up and watched as Sniper studied the area, his keen eyes flickering this way or that, acutely aware of inconsistencies in the terrain around them. With a free moment to let his own mind wander, Spy could feel his fascination with the other man swelling, tightening around his heart. (You bastard... you are like a hunted wolf, a wild animal. Just seeing you like this fills me with a desperate desire to pursue...)

Sniper's voice brought the rogue's mind back to the present. “Someone was last around 'ere... hm, maybe a week ago? Weren't trying to be slick about it, either. See th'marks on those trees? Where the lianas 'ave been hacked at? ...looks like there's an old footpath they were using, just chopping up anything in their way. I don't see anything what looks like a trap, but we should move slowly, and tread lightly. Let me go first, I've got some idea of what to be wary of. Tell me if you spot anything that looks weird. Or man-made.”

“Very well.” Spy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again, suddenly feeling tongue-tied. “You are... bah, I will be honest with you, Mundy. Our present circumstances 'ave left me uncertain about ze direction we should be taking 'ere. I am inclined to seek a place where we can tend our wounds. What do you think? With ze rest of our team scheduled to arrive 'ere soon, are we better off 'astening to clear ze area of, ah... environmental 'azards?”

“Before the chopper was hit, that dead bloke 'ad told mission control about the crash we'd seen. I wouldn't put total incompetence beyond our employers, but...” Sniper paused and sagged back on his haunches, wincing; his back was also scored with bits of metal from the destroyed Huey. “I'm hoping they'll put two and two together, and deduce that things aren't going as planned out 'ere. When we don't phone the others from the respawn room in Teufort, they'll know we're still alive. If they do send another flight out... well, I'm not sure what it'll be. Better prepared than we were, I hope.”

Sniper rubbed some fresh blood from his right temple and frowned. “In the meantime... finding a place to stop and pick some of this shrapnel out of our hides, that mightn't be a bad idea. It's probably safest to assume we're on our own here, so we've gotta' take care of ourselves. I reckon if we follow that path north, towards the old estate, we'll find a shed or something along the way.”

Oooh, I like this. I love how it's a continuation of Put A Spell On You as well.

I can't wait to see where this is going. I like the way you write - the action is especially great!

I can't wait to read the next chapter :)

Time for another update, whee.

_________________________________

The two men made cautious progress through the jungle, both keeping their eyes peeled for anyone or anything that could kill them. Sniper had spotted a few pitfalls alongside the path, but they hadn't been dressed recently, and once he saw the dead foliage scattered around them, Spy felt a bit stupid for not having noticed it in the first place. They came across a few places where the trees and underbrush were scarred from explosives, which deepened the sharpshooter's concern.

“I can't say if someone stumbled on a trap there or if they were lobbing grenades, but this didn't happen yesterday.” He gestured roughly at a blackened tree stump, already being reclaimed by creepers and fresh undergrowth. “See that? ...I reckon we're not the first crew they've sent 'ere, recently.”

Humidity hung in the air like a thick comforter, compounded by the stifling afternoon heat. Tiny lizards went scurrying at the RED pair's approach, and mosquitoes harassed them every step of the way. When a breeze finally roused itself to offer some relief, it was accompanied by a thundering rattle on the canopy overhead – they found themselves beset by a torrential downpour. Though it was hardly the first time the Frenchman had been to an exotic land and experienced this sort of weather, he was vexed to be suffering it in this treacherous, muddy setting. The urge to speed up was overshadowed by poor visibility, however, and all the hazards that came with it.


As the rainfall weakened, Spy realized they were passing by stands of banana trees that had gone wild in the tropical forest. His teammate made no comment, but had probably seen them too; for better or for worse, Sniper had gone quiet aside from the occasional remark about a sprung trap, or a plant that shouldn't be touched. Taking a moment's pause to pick a burr off of his sock, he was caught off-guard by the sound of the other man's voice.

“Psst- you see that? Old out-building up ahead. A storage shack, something of the like. Dunno how it's still standing...” Sniper gestured at something down the path. At first, all Spy could see was more plants, but then he spotted a stone wall hiding beneath a thick covering of bindweed. Following its outline, he realized there was a bit of aluminum sheeting poking out from under the greenery.

(Why hasn't that rusted away?) he thought, but didn't say it out loud; Sniper had already scuttled ahead to investigate, and Spy clambered to catch up with him. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the marksman disappear through a blackened entryway. “Mundy!” he hissed.

“'s a bit drier in here,” came a quiet reply, and Spy felt his alarm ease off a little. As he got closer, he could see that Sniper was lingering just inside, no doubt surveying the room for hazards. “The roof looks fairly new. They must've been using this for something recently. ...oi, there's something in the corner, not sure what I'm-”

As the wind picked up, Spy heard the Australian's breath catching in his throat. A moment later, he strode stiffly out of the building with a stony expression on his face, hurried past the bewildered Spy, then doubled-over and vomited onto his boots.

“What ze 'ell is...” Spy wouldn't get an immediate answer from his teammate, but he quickly realized he didn't need one; the breeze coaxed an incredible stench from inside the shelter, and even before he started to gag and rifle through his pockets for a handkerchief, the masked man knew they were dealing with a corpse. While Sniper was busy emptying his stomach, Spy clutched a damp cloth over his nose and mouth, and went to have a look inside.


The shed's dank air was buzzing with flies, stirred up by the wind that had crept in through gaps near the roof. At one end of the room lay a man who had fallen face-down on the floor, his arms folded beneath him as they clutched something to his chest. Spy wasn't a forensics expert, but he could determine the cause of death just by looking – the back of the man's skull had been sprayed across the nearby wall and ceiling. (It must have been a shotgun blast. In this heat, a body wouldn't last long... he's only been here a couple of days.) Unspeakable things were already growing on and in the body, further befouling his uniform and the area around him, turning the dirt floor to a nauseating soup.

Spy didn't trust his gorge enough to describe the scene, and it sounded like the other RED was still being sick, anyways. While not quite a germophobe, he didn't like being anywhere in the vicinity of flies and rotting cadavers, even less now than during the war in Europe. He was desperately curious to know what the dead man was holding, but when he started to reach for a rotting board to turn over the body, Spy felt his stomach convulse and he knew he wasn't up to the task.

He staggered out and dropped to one knee, trying not to choke on his last meal. Something incongruous on the path caught Spy's notice as he fought to regain control of himself, and he picked it up with a sense of bleary confusion. It was a muddy scrap of cloth that appeared to have been hacked from someone's clothes. Spy rubbed it with his gloved fingertips, realizing with dull horror that it had once been his team's color. He grimaced. (Don't be stupid, there's a whole world of people in red shirts. I don't even know if this came from our dead friend in there.) Still, it seemed like an unsettling coincidence.

“Where'd you get that badge?” Sniper's voice and gait were shaky as he approached, but he seemed to be recovering. After pausing to wipe his mouth with one hand, he squinted at Spy again, frowning. “That belongs to Demoman, don’t it?”

“What? What badge?” The marksman's question hit Spy out of the blue, and he stared, confounded, before turning the scrap over as it dawned on him. “A Demoman's insignia... I just- it was on ze ground 'ere, it's not from ze one we work with.”

“The fellow in the shed? I, uh, didn't get a good look at 'im, but-”

Sniper groaned and sank to a crouch, mumbling something about the smell. While he pulled himself together, Spy tried his hardest to make sense of what they had seen. “We were told zat dying out 'ere will just be a costly inconvenience, but I'm not certain of it now. I 'ave no desire to start prodding zat dead body for clues, and I'm quite sure you don't, either, but- ugh, if 'e was a RED company mercenary, it means zere is even more we don't know about ze situation than before.”

“Haven't seen any others. Corpses, I mean,” Sniper said, sounding choked. “Don't mean there aren't some about. But I think there'd be more junk, too... weapons, debris, bits of people's armor. Fuck, this is bloody lunacy going on here. I can't understand it.”

“Regardless, we 'ave to press on. And 'ope zere is shelter around 'ere zat we won't 'ave to share with a corpse.” Spy gingerly stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket, then took out his cigarette case. “Let's move. I need fresh air to smoke in. Away from zat... mess.”

“Right.” The Australian wobbled to his feet and followed, cursing as he fished his own pack of smokes and found them completely wet. “S- say, spook... y'mind lending us a fag? You know, what with me and you bein' in this together?”

Spy clicked his tongue irritably. “I'll think about it.”

The plot thickens! Awesome!

Poor Demo. Thankfully it's not Tavish, but still... I have a soft spot for Demomen in general because I've always seen Tavish as the most genuinely kind and friendly guy on the team. I hope Sniper and Spy kick his killer's ass.

Don't they still have shrapnel in their bodies, though?

Ze thick plottens.

In all seriousness, I love this story more and more with each installation. Even more so now that things are getting all spooky...

Demoman doesn't get enough love. He's freakin' awesome. Eyepatch = badass. And yeah, it's not a major plot point, but Spy and Sniper still have bits of the helicopter lodged in their skin.

Now for another P.O.V. switch. I've been waiting months to do something where Scout refers to Heavy and Medic as "Romeo and Juliet".
_______________________________

A while after the RED Spy and Sniper had arrived on the island, but long before they made their grisly discovery in that dank shed, the rest of the team had gathered at mission control. It was a penthouse suite on the roof of their seedy hotel. It was ill-maintained, still scattered with beer cans from its last tenant, and Medic didn't like the way its ancient air conditioner was blowing cobwebs and dust everywhere. Getting splattered with blood and bodily fluids was an acceptable hazard of the workplace, but when off the battlefield, he really couldn't tolerate dirt.

The spiders didn't appeal to him either, but at least they were providing for a little light entertainment. Scout was terrified of the things, cringing and fidgeting on his perch beside the radio console. A few particularly large, fat ones were lurking on flimsy webs over the youngest American's head. Medic was caught between telling him now, and waiting for the AC to shake them onto him.

“Shot down,” Soldier growled, as a recording of the Huey's transmission cut out. The group had listened to it several times, and their expressions gave Medic a nagging feeling that some manner of shouting match was imminent. Almost everyone seemed to be in deep thought, pondering the next move they should take. From what had gone on before, he knew a turn of events this disastrous could send the team's usual cohesion flying out of the window. A new plan would have to be made on the spot, and if tempers flared up in the tense atmosphere, getting people to settle on a course of action would be like pulling teeth.

“This is just un-fuckin'-believable. Shit! It was like they already fuckin' knew where we were gonna' land! They- they couldn't have gotten their hands on our intel, could they? It ain't possible! What're we gonna do?!” Scout ran a hand over his face, then groaned. Someone gave an irritable sigh, and Demoman turned to glare at him.

“There's only a couple places our men coulda been set down near the plantation, ya blubberin' simp'! If they've got a few men on patrol with th' right ordinance, then we've nowhere safe ta land a second crew that isn't miles from the bleedin' estate!”

Soldier gritted his teeth. “I told them we should've used real gunships for this! Dammit, I say we napalm everything around the landing zone, THEN deploy a second squad! That'll teach those BLU cowards to hide in the trees like a bunch of Goddamn monkeys!”

Although Pyro seemed thrilled at the suggestion of napalm, it prompted a weary sound from Engineer. “Even if we had the time to cook up that much napalm and rig a sensible means of deploying it – which we don't, for the record – our boys are still alive down there. Maybe they're injured, maybe not, b-”

“Bah, we'll get 'em back if they're killed in th' process of us securin' a staging area! It's what we sent 'em te do in the first place, wasn't it?!” Demoman wasn't always agreeable to Soldier's impromptu ideas, but 'destroy large pieces of the landscape' must have appealed to him. “We've got enough explosives along te clear out that bit o' topiary, and put the fear 'a God into anyone hidin' in it!”

The stuffy air was being a detriment to Medic's patience, and people shouting in such close quarters wasn't helping, either. As Engineer tried to argue against bombing out a landing zone, the two who were for it became louder and louder. Then Scout chimed in with some pointless hysterics about the fate of the mission, and the doctor really began wishing he was somewhere else. A low rumble was suddenly heard, like thunder, and the others unexpectedly clammed up.

Scout blinked. “What was that?”

Heavy had spoken. He cleared his throat, looking deliberate. Medic found himself visualizing a boulder at the edge of a precipice, or an animal preparing to charge... something with great momentum that was getting ready to throw its weight around. Apparently satisfied that he'd been listened to, the huge Russian repeated his words. It was a question. “Two other helicopters: vhere are they?”

“Uhh... oh yeah, they're- aw, where the fuck did that transcript go?” Scout leaned over Soldier's shoulder, and started rifling through a stack of papers that sat before the teletype. Soldier made a grab for them, grunting irately, but the young man yanked the sheets away and began poring over them at hyper speed. “Right! The choppers are in the lot out back. They arrived the same time as the one we've lost contact with. But one of the guys who was gonna, y'know, drive us out there, he's come down with Montezuma's revenge or somethin'. Like, an hour ago. Real good timing.”

The Russian looked annoyed. While he seemed to know a colloquialism when he heard one, the more obscure ones usually required an explanation. “Come down vith whose revenge? You mean vhat?”

Scout tried to laugh and groan at the same time, and wound up just making unnecessary noise. “The guy's shitting his guts out, y'know? From eatin' weird food or some shit? He can't pilot his helicopter.”

Understanding dawned on Heavy's face. This must have been news to some of the others, as well, because a murmur of consternation passed through the group. Medic was a little more annoyed than anyone else by this hitch in their plans, though. At risk of starting another shouting match, he snapped, “You should heff told us zat before!”

“You didn't ask about it, you dried-up old windbag! Besides, the plan was for people ta get dropped off in shifts. Do we really need two fuckin' helicopters in the air at once?”

Medic was about to rebuff Scout when he found himself cut off by Heavy, of all people. “Ve might. Sick pilot is no problem. I drive this machine before.”

Soldier couldn’t believe him. “They've never sold Hueys to the Soviets, you lying commie rat!” Exhibiting greater patience than most, Heavy just smiled and shrugged a little.

“Vas flying Sikorsky S-58 helicopter in Sinai desert, years ago. Is long story. Controls of UH-1 are... vhat is expression, close enough?” A wide grinned spanned across his face. “Now listen: I know vhat must be done.”

While Heavy began explaining his idea to the group, Medic shrugged off his long coat and watched, feeling his ears burning with curiosity from that helicopter comment. The giant man was always surprising him. He had seen the pensive look on Heavy's face since the start of this meeting, but he hadn't expected any of his teammates to hash out a realistic course of action so quickly. Not even the little genius from Texas, whose usual pragmatic bent seemed to be weak today. (I'm sure that his friend going missing in action is the cause. Poor fellow, he really does let his heart get the better of him.) Medic smirked faintly, remembering the conversation between Engineer and Spy that he'd overheard, the way Engie had lashed out at the other man's words. The mechanic was visibly wound-up right now, and desperate to know what had become of Sniper.

Part of Heavy's plan was to answer that question. “Ve know important thing now: helicopter vill probably be attacked. I drive helicopter under fire before. Know how to keep from being destroyed. Ve take helicopter to island, hide helicopter after landing, find man who shoot down first helicopter and kill him. Medic, you come. If missing men are injured, you make them strong again. More men to help fight.” Heavy looked over the others as though gauging their reactions, and his eyes settled on Scout. “Tiny man come too. You operate radio if we need, look for missing men. You run fastest.”

Scout groaned in disbelief. “Aw man, I don't wanna get saddled with fuckin' Romeo and Juliet! If- if you're only takin' three people along, bring Engie instead. He can make dispensers and shit to keep you going.”

As Soldier, Engineer and Demoman muttered among themselves about this course of action, Medic gave a quiet sigh and leaned against his human shield. “Ah, my vork vould be much more difficult vizout you, Herr Heavy. I hope you never stop surprising me.” He was tempted to be more flirtatious, but Medic knew that this wasn't the best time or place. At the sound of his words, Heavy looked down at him and grinned.

“Someone have to make good plan. Helping Doktor is reward itself. ...you vant anything changed?” he added, raising his eyebrows a little. Although he'd listen to his other teammates, Medic was the only one he actively sought suggestions from.

Medic shook his head. “I vill heff to load some medical supplies into zer helicopter, but zis is not my area of expertise. ...I am certain Herr Soldier will have issue viz some part or anozzer. You can hear him out while I gather ze essentials.” The doctor watched for a moment, just before he left the penthouse. Sure enough, Soldier was starting to tell Heavy how he thought it should be done. The lantern-jawed American was talking rather than shouting, though, so hopefully things would stay civil.



In the end they all agreed on Heavy's plan, more or less. Engineer had been strangely silent while his team-mates made preparations, and vanished to his room once he was confident with the second Iroquois' state of repair. Medic wasn't sure if he was being petulant or just needed time to himself, but neither possibility seemed consistent with the Texan's usual behavior. The mission left him with no time to ponder this, though. As soon as they were in the air, Medic settled down for some last-minute reviews of their intel. While the RED company's technology had made him rather unworried about his mortality (at least in the long run), getting killed was still unpleasant, and losing any member of the group right now could compromise the whole mission.

The sun was lower in the sky when the island came in sight, hazy green under a towering mass of clouds. From the corner of his eye, Medic could see Scout in the back of the helicopter, apparently losing his mind in the absence of conversation or some room to move. Watching the boy fidget was just making him feel worse, so he closed his eyes and sagged into the passenger's seat, taking a few deep breaths. (I'm just airsick. It's just the shaking and the noise in here that's getting to me, nothing more.) Medic's coat was folded in his lap, and he tightened his grip on the white fabric, hoping the feeling would pass once they landed. Sooner rather than later would be good, really, but he knew that wouldn't happen.

Heavy had been largely silent for the duration of their flight, although the Huey's roar made it impossible to carry on a normal conversation. Being able to hear the Russian joking around or singing would have been a nice distraction, but the only sound from him had been status reports, shouted to whoever was listening at mission control. Squinting through his glasses for a moment, Medic wondered if they might need another pair of eyes to look for danger once they reached land. The scenery would have been beautiful from a stationary platform. As seen through a shaky helicopter window, though, it was just exacerbating his nausea. He stifled a groan, then took another deep breath and yelled, “Scout! Keep a lookout once we are over zat island!”

The youth had been getting on Medic's nerves back at the hotel, but despite an hour's captivity in the Huey, he was now wearing his game face. “Gotchya!” he shouted back, without so much as a word of complaint. The doctor wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but when Scout got down to business, he wasn't a bad guy to work with.

With that taken care of, Medic was free to focus on keeping his gorge down. (I should have brought the Kritzkrieg along for this, it always helps on a rough trip... the Medi-gun's fumes just don't produce the same sort of euphoria. Maybe an adjustment to the unit could reproduce the effect...) He didn't have the option of mucking about with his Medi-gun's inner workings right now, although it gave him something to occupy his mind.

Scout and Heavy could be heard just over the din, yelling about the weather outside; Medic took a cursory glance at their surroundings and saw swaths of rain had begun to fall, so thick they seemed to hang from the clouds in thick sheets. The Huey began shaking fitfully, and Medic averted his gaze from the trees they were skimming over, rifling through his coat pockets for a sick-bag. It was no error that the chopper was so near the canopy; the aircraft was too noisy to avoid being noticed, but it would have a smaller profile than if they were higher up, and reduce the time their enemies would have to spot it while they were landing. Hugging the tree line made for an even rougher ride than before, and Medic was suddenly grateful for the Huey's incessant racket – it drowned out the sound of his heaving.

“Aw, sick! Do you really gotta blow chunks right now?!” Scout was shouting in Medic's ear, and looking a little green himself. Medic didn't know what kind of answer he was expecting, but glared at him and gave a few wet coughs.

“Ve are in dangerous territory, dummkopf! Keep your eyes on zer jungle, and- and mind your own business!” The doctor's mood was going from 'anxious' to 'dangerously testy', and Scout wisely returned to his job at the window.

At the controls, Heavy looked like the world's biggest Formula One competitor. He was completely focused on the task at hand, his expression tightened into a grim smile as the Huey raced over the dense foliage of the jungle. With the landing zone nearing, as well as the threat of being shot down, his reflexes were on a hair trigger. Whatever took down the first helicopter would not claim theirs: he seemed determined to see this through.

“There's the fuckin' chopper wreck! Look, look! It's over there, at your- uh- your ten o'clock!” Scout was frantically gesturing to the remains of Spy and Sniper's ride out, but Heavy didn't let himself be distracted by this. Even with the danger they were in, Medic felt himself smiling faintly at the big man, thinking of words like 'indefatigable' and 'tenacious'. In any language, Heavy always defied description by any single word; at this moment, the doctor would have needed to draw up a list of adjectives if he wanted to express his thoughts on the Russian.

The helicopter slowed and descended, touching down across the clearing from the crash, as close to the trees as they could get without destroying the propeller. As the sound of the engine died down, the three men were already staggering out into the rain, making for the cover of the jungle. Medic was feeling weak in the knees after their flight, but he managed not to lose his footing. He saw Scout go face-first into the undergrowth in a premature attempt at running, and stopped to help the boy up again.

“Fuck!” Scout sputtered, coughing and scrabbling the filth off his face. It had only been a few moments since they stepped into the rain, and everyone was already soaked to the skin. They hadn't been attacked, though, and the first task at hand was to conceal the Huey as best as they could. With a delirious little laugh, Scout pointed around the grove where they were standing. “What the hell, these are fuckin' banana trees? I thought they grew on sticks or somethin'...”

Heavy thumped one of the fibrous trunks curiously, then reached up and tore off a thick frond. Their foliage consisted of wide leaves that were dark green in colour, some as long as a grown man. They would make for good camouflage. “Good. Take as many as you can, ve put these on helicopter. Is good entire machine vas not painted red, yes?” His teeth flashed in the dim light, and he set to work defoliating the tallest trees he could reach. Medic drew his bonesaw and joined in, piling the leaves on the ground in a neat stack. Scout finally got his bearings, and scrambled to take a heap of greenery back to the chopper so it could be rendered a little less obvious to the human eye.

The rain and encroaching darkness made camouflaging the Huey unpleasant, but it also meant they had a safe hiding place – at least for now. Medic wasn't sure how visible it would be in broad daylight, but soon nightfall would conceal any parts they had missed. (It still looks too much like a helicopter draped in leaves for my taste,) he thought, frowning.

“Trouble, Doktor?” Heavy had shed his flak jacket for the moment, and was wringing the rainwater out of his shirt. The monsoon-like conditions had let off a bit, but despite the tropical setting, they were all starting to feel cold in their soaked clothing.

“Just concerned. Bah, I'm certain Herr Engineer would know how to safeguard zis machine against being stolen... Viz night coming on so fast, I think ve should do as much as possible while zere is still light. Secure the perimeter of zis clearing, perhaps. Your thoughts?”

Scout cut in, looking antsy and curious at the same time. “I wanna' check out that wreckage over there. See if there's any clue what happened to them, y'know?”

“Vas exploded,” Heavy grunted, but didn't object. The American flipped him the bird.

“Glad you were payin' attention, Sherlock! ...fuck it, I'm gonna go look. You old farts can circle around the other side. I'll meetchya before you're halfway done.” With that, Scout scuttled off towards the downed helicopter. There were enough tall plants and bushes in the clearing that he was soon out of sight, and Medic grudgingly hoped nothing would kill him.

The doctor turned to Heavy, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Shall ve, mein schatz? ...vatch your step, I heff no idea if zere are traps around here.” The huge man nodded, his expression warming up a little, and they began their survey of the tree line.

__________________________________________


Scout had been thrilled when he learned his RED team had a mission in the Caribbean. Growing up in Boston, he felt about as far from the tropics you could get – particularly in winter, when sleet and the early nightfall made being outdoors a misery. He remembered seeing “Swiss Family Robinson” at the age of ten, and cursing his life as he walked home from the theater, struggling over icy sidewalks as a howling wind froze the snot in his nose. Being on a tropical island seemed like paradise, when even your hand-me-down parka and mitts couldn't keep the cold out.

The poverty of the city where they'd been stationed hadn't soured his feelings, really. Sure, a lot of the buildings had looked really shabby, but it wasn't that different from the neighborhood he was from. (At least these bums have warm weather year-round. And the view of that harbor? Fuckin' amazing. There's no tropical beaches or mango trees or shit back in Boston.) The cheap rum didn't hurt, either. On the night that Sniper declined to go out, Scout and the others had found a tourist bar, with enough liquor and dancing girls to keep them all busy. Those girls sure could shake it. Demoman could have passed off as one of the locals, but hearing him and the bartender try to communicate had been hilarious to the rest of the party; between their diverse accents, they might as well have been speaking different languages. American dialects were more familiar to the islanders, though, and Engineer diffused whatever confusions the RED team may have caused. Scout's memory of their evening out was foggy towards the end, but he had decided the Caribbean was perfect by that point.

As he jogged through the rain-soaked foliage and tried not to slip on anything, Scout was feeling less thrilled about being on a tropical island. He was cold from the rain, covered in mud from the knees down, and harassed by mosquitoes. There was a job to be done, though, and finding where his teammates had gone would make it easier for everyone.

“Man, fuck this place. Fuckin' rain... fuckin' mud an' crap in my shoes... fuckin' wet underwear ridin' up the crack of my ass...” Scout had already learned that running wasn't his best means of locomotion here, so he moved at a more cautious pace. Coming up on the stand of trees where, some hours previously, Spy and Sniper made their desperate scramble for cover, Scout noticed something weird stuck into the trunk of a large hardwood. “Oh, you have got to be fuckin' kidding me. That's a propeller. ...wow.” He ran a hand over his face, then took a second look at it – the blade had broken in two on impact, leaving half of itself in the tree. He stretched up on tip-toes, but couldn't quite touch the thing. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the wreck itself standing amidst a charred, shrapnel-torn patch of bushes. A thought struck him. (Was it already on the ground when it got blown up? There's still a lot of it in one place, considering what happened to it...)

As Scout turned to approach the crash site, he spotted a hat's brim in the grass and picked it up for closer examination. “This is Sniper's... man, what the fuck happened to it?” The Akubra's top was half-missing, like someone had swung a sword at Sniper and aimed a little high. Blood splattered the wide brim, and there was a little on the inside, too. The damaged area was clean, though, aside from mud and some chestnut-brown locks. Scout didn't know what to make of it, and stuffed it into his messenger bag for safekeeping.

The wreck itself didn't reveal much new information. Scout felt confident now that it had been destroyed after landing, rather than being shot down; the craft was still on its feet, and while the roof and outer walls were missing, the tail still hung from what remained of its back half. The front seats lay nearby. As Scout approached them, he felt something tear a gash in his right calf. Swearing, the youth leaned over to discover a large piece of shrapnel on the ground. “Ow, fuckin'- dammit, I gotta get moving. Nothing left for me here.”

Scout continued along the edge of the clearing, muttering under his breath about everything that was pissing him off at the moment. Talking was almost involuntary for him, and he probably would have been more distracted trying to keep quiet. The rain had yet to regain its previous strength, but it still glinted in the dying light, and kept him second-guessing every time he thought he saw movement. A fresh breeze kept the foliage waving all around him, as though the jungle itself were a writhing, spineless creature, a dark green medusoid lashing endlessly at the tiny people on its back. “I've been readin' too many of Sniper's crazy magazines,” he sighed, shivering in his wet clothes. “Gotta' keep focused, keep my fuckin' head in the game. Ugh, I bet those assholes back at the hotel are living it up...”

The outline of a tall, rectangular object among the trees caught Scout's eye. Something about the sight made him immediately wary, and he ducked behind a tree trunk while trying to determine if it was a threat. “The fuck is that? Looks like a metal box, or a- a telephone booth without windows?” His eyes followed the building up towards the canopy, and at its top he could see a shorter box with four round openings in the front. The whole thing was still, but humming quietly. Scout emerged from his hiding place and came closer to the structure, shaking water off his head while he walked. The rain had stopped for the moment, and as the wind died down, an eerie stillness crept over the clearing.

“Okay pal, lemme get a closer look at you...whatever you are,” he said, stopping a few meters away from the thing and looking up at it. The object stood at roughly three times Scout's height, its inner workings concealed by sheet metal walls. Scout stretched, then leaned back to study the box at the top, and jumped in surprise when it tilted down towards him. Those four deep holes in its face were looking more and more like Something Bad. A sharp “beep!” sounded from within the machine, and Scout was suddenly and terribly aware of what he was seeing.

Run, scout. Run.

Quite curious as to where this is going...

I can't believe I waited as long as I did to start reading this, because it is really enjoyable! I look forward to the next installment.

A hint of fluff, for Valentine's day.
_______________________________
A scream could be heard from across the clearing. “FUCK! SENTRY! IT- FUCKIN' SENTRY!” While Heavy and Medic were still trading bewildered glances, an explosion shook the clearing, and they broke into a run.

Medic was the faster of the two. He lunged ahead and parted a thick clump of beautiful but thorny bougainvillea, then suddenly found himself thrown back to the ground by a fast-moving projectile. A talking, fast-moving projectile.

“Oh my God it's a fuckin' giant rocket shooting never seen shit, that, it- it's fuckin' HUGE, man! Th-th-that thing! Am- am I bleedin'?! Fucker shot like a whole bunch of fuckin' rockets at me and fuck! I fuckin' RAN like I was running from the fuckin' grim reaper rocket skeleton horse, like- like it was comin' after me and fuck...” Scout had landed on top of Medic and was yelling hysterically, clinging to the older man's shirtfront and shaking in wide-eyed terror.

A second explosion sounded off in the clearing, another barrage of rockets that had missed their desperately fleeing target, but none followed after that. Medic groaned and sat up while the runner continued to babble, and eventually placed his hands on Scout's shoulders, then gave them a stiff shake. Heavy watched curiously.

“Herr Scout,” he hissed, “Stop your screaming before everything on ze island finds us here!”

Scout's incomprehensible rambling petered off, although it took him a few moments longer to get off the older man and awkwardly help him up. “I... I, uh, I think I know what got the other chopper. There's a fuckin', uh, some kinda' sentry tower thing hidden in the trees there. Y'know, like the ones Engie makes, but with nothin' but big rockets.” Scout was still visibly spooked, but he was pulling himself together by degrees, and that was a big relief for Medic.

“Vhy it not shoot us down?” Heavy asked, looking particularly grim in the deepening twilight.

“I dunno, man! I dunno! It wasn't... wh-when I saw it at first, it wasn't really turned on or nothin'. I just remember that everything was real quiet all of a sudden, and I was walkin' over to look at it when it started fuckin' shooting at me.”

Heavy's pensive frown intensified. “Don't understand. Helicopter is bigger than tiny man.” He looked around as though some clue might present itself, but the foliage was silent and still.

“Ach-” Medic suddenly felt a jolt of realization, and turned to his colleagues. “Ze weather is calming, zat must be it! Those things have motion sensors of some sort, jah? But if it were to be operational while everything around it is shaking from ze vind, it vould be useless for finding targets. Even dangerous to whoever built it! Zey must have tuned zat machine to become active vhen ze vind is still, so any erratic movement it fires at vould heff to be a person or a vehicle.”

Scout rubbed his eyes and sagged a bit. “Well, we gotta' destroy the fuckin' thing, one way or another. You think it can find us in the dark?”

The doctor shook his head, frowning. “Quite possibly. I, ah... I am not sure if ze sensors on it are responding to light, or acoustics, or...” He shrugged, feeling frustrated to be faced with a technical challenge that was outside his professional sphere. “As long as ve stay out of its line of sight, ve should be able to return to ze aircraft safely, but I don't know ze safest vay to destroy it. Perhaps if ze weather picks up again...”

“Bet its own rockets would work against it. I outrun them, y'know? I'd just hafta' pass by it at the right moment, and bam! If the thing's aimed low enough, it might shoot its own ass off.” After the panic he had arrived in, Medic was surprised to see Scout so eager to face off with the sentry again.

Heavy shook his head, and rumbled, “Is too dangerous. Drawing rocket fire at point-blank range? Vould be too fast for you, I think. Better at a distance. ...vhere is destroyed helicopter?”

Scout looked like he was going to get mouthy over Heavy's comment, but the question caught him off guard. He pointed to the south. “Wait, what? ...it's over that way. Everything's kinda burned up around it, you can't miss it. I think they musta' got blown up after they landed, 'cause it's really just missing the top. The body of it's still standing there, it even has the tail stuck to it. Why?”

The huge Russian's mouth twitched. “Vait here. Listen. Vhen I yell, Scout draw sentry's attention. Run fast. Keep rocket fire near these bushes. Near them! Not on them! I have plan.” Before Scout or Medic could start asking for clarification, Heavy crept off into the bushes. The pampas grass and flowering shrubs were tall enough that even he could find concealment, and soon the only sign of him was a faint rustling, growing more distant as the moments passed.

They traded wary glances. Scout looked particularly uncertain and asked, “What the fuck's he doing?”

Medic was nonplussed. “How should I know? Just keep your head down, dummkopf. ...hm, zat is blood? Hold still, I vill heal you.”

“Oh yeah, I kinda forgot about that. There was a big fuckin' hunk of twisted metal in the bushes, I cut my leg on it.”

While they waited for a sign from Heavy, Medic tended to the gash on the boy's calf. It could have been a peaceful moment for introspection, if they weren't both expecting their colleague to get blown up at any second. Then a yell was heard that filled them with mixed relief and anxiety.

“GO, SCOUT! RUN!”

Scout darted off to the far edge of their cover, then he ran.

Night was nearly upon them now, and the rocket's flash illuminated the sentry tower with each barrage, making itself a beacon amidst the trees. Medic watched as best as he could through a gap in the foliage. He made note of the long pause between rocket bursts, the tower's height, and the sounds it produced, but that was mostly to keep himself occupied; he didn't know if there were more of these, but cowering in the dark while his team-mates tried to deal with one was nerve-wracking.

The day they arrived in the Caribbean, Medic had spotted an orange crab in a garden, across the street from the hotel. It was a tiny creature with long legs, and as he approached it had darted away, scurrying lightning-fast over roots and dead leaves before vanishing into a burrow. Medic found himself thinking of it now while he watched Scout dodging rockets; the youth didn't seem to be running, so much as clambering through and over the bushes with unbelievable speed, leaving craters in his wake. (What the hell are you doing, Heavy? Where are you?!)

Another cluster of rockets struck out, then Medic saw something hurtle towards the tower. There was a cruel screech of metal, a loud crash of foliage and machinery. Smoke poured from the edge of the clearing, but he resisted the temptation to walk out, instead waiting for his teammates to return to him. Scout arrived first, panting a little.

“Okay... alright. I dunno what just happened, but... I think we don't gotta worry about that thing anymore.” The boy's grin was dimly visible, and Medic couldn't help but smile back.

“You did vell, not getting yourself blown to pieces.”

Heavy's approach could be heard, and then he pushed his way through the shrubbery and joined the others. “Come, is too dark now. Dangerous to travel, ve go back now.” He gestured towards their base, as it were, and they set out for the shelter of the leaf-strewn Iroquois.

“The fuck did you do to that thing, man? What happened?” Scout had caught his breath after all that running, and now that Heavy's plan had worked, he seemed curious to know what it was. Medic wouldn't have worded the question so crudely, but he was also keen to be enlightened.

The big man shrugged, grinning in false modesty. “I throw crashed helicopter at it. Vell, tail of helicopter. Rockets vould protect against this thing, but... you keep it busy for me.”

As they walked back through the twilight, Medic moved back alongside Heavy, then surreptitiously grabbed as much of the Russian's huge tricep as he could fit his hand around.

Leave it to Heavy to fuck up a teeny, tiny, baby level +100 sentry with a crashed helicopter's tail.

Where your previous fic shined with it's fluffiness, this one's real tight with the action and bad-ass characterization, this is perhaps the most exciting fic going on /afanfic/ ATM!

Agree with the above anon. This story is just fantastic. Your actions scenes are well paced and descriptive. I can't wait to find out what's going on!

Aw, thanks, Anons. I'm always kind of nervous about trying to write things where a lot is happening (and where there's a mystery being unraveled); I don't want to reveal too much at once or just plain lose track of any important developments. The urge to go off on tangents that wouldn't really advance the story is a constant struggle for me.

Now for the kind of tangent (some) people have been waiting for. You know it was bound to happen sooner or later.
___________________________________
The higher incidence of bananas alongside the path was a relief to Sniper, even as he felt his wariness of traps increasing. (We're getting closer.) Sure enough, he started to catch glimpses of an open field through gaps in the foliage, and edifices of human habitation were also becoming a more common sight. Some of them looked unnervingly recent. On the outskirts of the plantation, they found a dirt road that cut through the trees, connecting the field to a larger outbuilding.

Sniper could feel suspicion nagging at him as he and Spy examined the scenery. He spoke quietly to the other man; in the failing light, Sniper decided, pointing out things that seemed obvious might not be a bad idea. “See that supply barn? It can't be more'n a few years old, if that.”

“Quite remarkable, considering zis place 'as been abandoned for decades,” Spy sniffed. The masked man's frustration at the gaps in their briefing was understandable, if a bit worrisome. It was becoming clear that the RED company hadn't told the mercenaries everything they knew about this island. “Ze map showed locations of many buildings around ze estate, but I 'ad assumed they were just ruins. With night approaching zis fast, I believe we should consider seeking shelter 'ere...provided zere are no traps or dead bodies in zis building.”

“Right,” Sniper said, grimacing at the memory of their earlier discovery. It wasn't the first time in his life that he'd seen what jungle conditions did to a corpse, but in recent years, he'd become gradually accustomed to the naive expectation that dead people vanish before they have a chance to stink. Having a teammate blown to pieces in front of him was just incentive to fight harder. The limited consequences of death and the fleeting nature of human remains, at least in Sniper's day-to-day life, was slowly detaching him from the reality of the world.

(Respawn... Our employers didn't say it was non-functional out here, they just said that a chamber hadn't been set up yet. That we'd wind up in the Badlands if we were killed. Were those bastards lying to us? The RED Demoman we found, he sure isn't respawning. Poor bastard...) While they cautiously approached the barn, Sniper continued to brood. The loading door was modern – an aluminum shutter – and rusted shut on its rails. A smaller door was to the right of it, and after a few good kicks, he was able to break the lock and gain entrance. Spy followed nearby, hovering at his shoulder, and closed the door behind them.

They found it to be almost empty, free of both death traps and supply caches. The concrete floor smelled oily, and as Sniper drew an electric torch from his rucksack and illuminated their surroundings, it was clear this had been used as a machine shop. There was a small office in one corner of the barn, and over it, a flight of stairs lead up to a loft that overlooked the work floor. The only fixtures left now were posters and a calendar in the office, all emblazoned with the RED company logo.

The two men sat down on the empty office's floor. “Fuck! What 'ave those bastards been playing us for? Look at ze date written over zere- two years old. Zey had men fighting for zis island two years ago, and just forgot to mention it before sending us out?” Spy spat and lit himself a cigarette, shivering in his damp clothes.

“This doesn't make any bloody sense to me, mate. They fight 'ere a while, then... pack up and leave? There's nothing out here worth stickin' around for, I suppose, but if they'd won – assuming they did, as we've not seen a sign of the BLUs since that wreck flyin' in – why send US out here now? Not to mention, whichever cohort of RED mercenaries that sorry sod in the shed belonged to...” Sniper was trying not to fidget too much, but he and Spy were both succumbing to chilblains, and hours of creeping through the jungle had done nothing to ease their shrapnel wounds. “Christ, Spy, I really wanna know what the fuck is goin' on. But I think for now, we... well, we ought to tend our injuries. Let our clothes dry. Don’t wanna get trench foot.”

As Sniper wrestled off his boots and socks, the other man gave a sign of resignation and began to undress as well. “For now, regretfully, we can only speculate. 'ere, do you 'ave a first aid kit in zere?”

“I should bloody well hope so,” he grunted, unpacking the contents of his pack. The bottle of Tanqueray had survived unscathed, but his submachine gun was scored in a few places, and the wooden stock of his rifle still had bits of the Huey embedded in its surface. There was also a white tin with a red cross on it, but the shrapnel had perforated its lid; a strong smell of iodine came from within. “Well this is a real piece of piss... Look at this, the bleedin' gauze is full of that shit.”

“Tweezers?”

“No, no, the tweezers are in one piece. It's just the little- there was this plastic bottle wif iodine in it, see? And the damn thing-”

Spy cleared his throat. “Tweezers – 'and zem to me. And take your shirt off, I will clean your wounds.”

“Oh, right. Of course,” Sniper mumbled a little, and shrugged off his vest and shirt. After a moment's thought, he took a swig of gin, then handed Spy the first-aid kit.

He could feel Spy's gaze on him, studying his body. It wasn't the first time he'd had Spy leaning over his back, after all. This time, though, the masked man was just carrying out a medical procedure. He tensed in pain each time his partner dug out a bit of metal, and shivered at the touch of iodine-soaked gauze; for the next half-hour, the only sounds in the little room were Sniper's panting, stifled groans and the occasional murmur from Spy.

Then it was over. Spy snagged the bottle of gin from him and had a long drink, then returned the first-aid kit. “Zere, you should 'ave nothing but a few new scars on your back. I am... curious about ze others you 'ave, I confess, but-”

Anger flared up in Sniper's chest, and he silenced Spy with a tweezer jab. “Got nothing to say t'you 'bout that, you mask-wearing sneak. We've all got things better kept to ourselves.”

Spy seemed tempted to prod him further, but was wisely mute for the rest of his treatment. When Sniper had picked the last fragments from Spy's back, he set the soiled gauze aside with a shaky sigh and sat down on the floor. “Oi, gimme that bottle. I really need a drink right now.”

“Zis day 'as been exceptionally frustrating,” Spy said quietly, passing Sniper a smoke along with the Tanqueray.

The Australian felt more grateful than he wanted to be, and when he'd taken another pull from the bottle, he left it in arm's reach of Spy. “Don't know how long that torch will last. We oughta see if we can build a small fire. Floor in 'ere's not greasy as the rest of the barn. C'mon, get off your posh arse and help me.”

The two of them found some cinderblocks, and set them down to make a containing wall for their fire. Sniper broke some wooden railing off the mezzanine, and they had enough fuel to keep themselves illuminated for the rest of the night, and a little warmer besides. The wet clothes were draped over the stairs; with all the work they could do complete, they sat down on the concrete floor and shivered side-by-side.

Sniper frowned into the fire as he had another drink.

“Worrying about ze state of our mission, Mssr. Mundy?” Spy asked, looking cold, weary, and a little drunk.

The bushman's frown persisted. (Maybe if we were back in the hotel right now, or at least had something to sit on that wasn't rock-hard... Maybe if we hadn't found that body- that's got to be it, the the fear, the... the mortality? Right, the sense of mortality. Or just... maybe, if I weren't sozzled and exhausted from everything we've been through... then I wouldn't want to be sitting closer to him.) He squirmed a bit, still wearing his damp trousers for lack of anything underneath.

Spy sighed, clicking his tongue; for his part, he was wearing plain briefs of a thin fabric, that had almost certainly dried by now. “If those wet pants are making you chilly, just take ze fucking things off. You 'ave nothing I 'aven't seen before.”

Sniper weighed his options, then decided he was too tired to care about what might happen. After shedding his pants, he hung them to dry with the rest of his clothes, then returned to the abandoned office and parked himself beside Spy. They were closer now, close enough to rub shoulders with one another. “Don't get th' wrong idea, mate, I'm just- I'm bloody cold right now.”

“You wound me, mon chou.” Spy brushed his fingertips over his heart, and fluttered his eyelashes dramatically. Then he sighed, putting an arm across Sniper's back and pulling the Australian closer. “Given our present circumstances, I think ze laborer would forgive you for being in close physical contact with me.”

“This ain't about him, you bloody weasel. I don't want to... to want this!” Sniper growled, trying to raise some objection, but the warmth of Spy's body was so comforting- too comforting. He could feel his dick hardening against his thighs, and could do little to conceal it. After a long moment of glowering, he groaned faintly and curled up against Spy, resting his head on the masked man's shoulder. “I want this. Christ, I'm just so bloody cold ‘n achin’ right now. I can't think, not after...”

Spy shushed him, and started gently massaging his neck. “It's been a long day, and we're both a bit drunk. 'ere, I can take care of you, if you will let me...”

“Hmph.” Sniper felt as though his head was spinning. He couldn't bring himself to say 'yes' out loud, to ask for one thing or another, and just pressed his mouth against Spy's throat. The other man gave a soft gasp, then placed one hand on his chest and began teasing a slow trail down to his straining erection. He grunted impatiently and bit Spy, who chuckled.

“Zis doesn't 'ave to mean anything. Mmm, we are just tending to our needs, you know. It is no different from eating or breathing. We are both animals at heart, and-” The sound of Spy's voice was at once annoying and exciting to Sniper, and he reached down to the growing stiffness in those white briefs, slipping his fingers under the waistband, then rubbing his palm against the hot shaft while his fingertips found sensitive flesh to stroke. Spy shivered at his touch and cried out, digging neatly-trimmed nails into Sniper's shoulder.

“Less yappin', more work,” he said, panting as Spy grabbed his pecker and got down to business. It occurred to him that he might feel guilty about this later, but to Sniper, this wasn't about affection and most certainly not love. His attitude towards Spy had warmed up a little, but trading hand-jobs with the Frenchman was just an exercise in stress relief. At least, Sniper kept telling himself that. (This isn't the first time in history that two lonely blokes have sat around, wanking together. He knows I'm not fond of him. ...besides, if Engie was here too, I'd shag him and leave Spy out in the bloody cold.) Thoughts of Engineer made his heart ache with longing, but left him reasonably confident that whatever was happening now, he hadn't strayed emotionally from his close friend.

They huddled together for a while, each man dizzily focused on bringing the other one off. It was clumsy and messy, but as he trembled, spurting the fruit of their labor into Spy's tight fist, he felt it had a satisfying finish. Sniper hooked an arm around the small of Spy's back and held him close, pumping the masked man's desperate cock until he came as well.

Spy's breath was hot and shaky against Sniper's cheek. They clung to one another for what seemed like an eternity, ignoring the stickiness from their encounter, just glad to be warm and light-headed and in the company of another person. Even after they disengaged from the embrace, Spy seemed aware that too many words would spoil the moment. They only exchanged a few weary murmurs before lying down for the night. Sniper wriggled over to spoon with his teammate, who briefly cringed, then decided the sting of his wounds was preferable to having a cold back. Soon they were both in a deep sleep.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the fact that he was out of practice from his years working for the RED company, but Sniper had let his natural wariness slip; he always slept with one eye open out in the bush, where being a light sleeper could save your life. Now, he was immersed in a dreamless resting state that his body desperately needed, but completely vulnerable to any intruder. As footsteps whispered across the floor and silent hands gathered up the two men's weapons, neither did so much as bat an eyelid.

They had company.

I think you've already got my opinions on this, but I was looking forward to seeing your revision on this part. Well done!

Not sure what I'm worried about and want to find out more: Who got the drop on Sniper and Spy, or if Engie is going to be cool with Sniper having a wank with Spy in the middle of the jungle.

All will be revealed in time... for now, have some helmets.
______________________________

Soldier sat hunched over the radio console, glowering at it, as though the device were withholding important information that it just didn’t feel like sharing with him. Maybe it was. He knew electronics were an important component of the team’s equipment, and trusted the ones that could heal a man or restore him to life. Over time, he had even started using the battlefield teleporters, although Engineer’s reassurances that they “wouldn’t ever turn a man inside out on my watch” had something to do with it.

The console seemed shifty, though. Or perhaps it was the helicopter’s radios that were behaving strangely. Either way, Soldier had heard sounds come through while talking with Heavy. The dead pilot, too. He didn’t like these sounds. (Can hear people talking,) he thought, and frowned some more. It was incoherent, but Soldier was certain he was overhearing some hushed, crackly message over the radio.

A red light came on, and now he was definitely hearing a voice. Heavy’s. The Russian lacked his usual bass tones over this medium, and sounded a little funny as a result. Even so, it could be no one else. “Home base, you read?”

“Loud and clear, Heavy,” Soldier sighed. He had been alternating between rage and helpless frustration since the second crew had set out, and right now was in the latter state. “Got a status report for me, private, or are you people just lonely out there?”

Someone jeered in the background, probably Scout. “As of... nineteen-hundred, ve are forced to stay here for the night. Too dark to see in jungle.”

“Well, isn’t that just great. Haven’t you ever heard of flashlights? Or lanterns, or- or fucking torches?” Soldier’s natural urge was to chew them out for stopping, but his heart wasn’t in it. He knew from his travels in Europe that trying to navigate a forest at night was a good way to maim yourself. Even if there weren’t traps in the area, tripping on deadfall or blundering off a cliff could result in a singularly non-heroic death. “Dammit, I guess it wouldn’t be worth the risk to set out right now. Have you got any good news?”

Heavy grunted, but the radio only picked up the sound of air hissing out between his teeth. “Landing area is secure. Vas automated sentry that shoot down other helicopter. Ve destroy it. Now, you come as soon as ve have light.”

Soldier perked up a little. “Really? Excellent work, men! We’ll be there at the crack of dawn! Any sign of our MIA’s?”

There was a pause. After some indistinct words from the others, the Russian spoke again. “Scout find the hat of Sniper, but nothing else. Ve search tomorrow.”

A frustrated grumbling sound escaped Soldier. It occurred to him that over the radio, the others probably just heard hissing too. “Anything else to report?”

“No.”

“Alright, then... home base out.” As the red light went dark, Soldier propped his elbows against the console and muttered to himself. He didn’t expect any updates from the Medic’s team, but with the long night ahead, and no more preparations to make, he was at a loss for direction.

It could have been for minutes or hours that he sat there, brooding over the state of the mission, with no company but the silent radio. Soldier was so deep in thought, he barely noticed when someone opened the door and walked in. The sound of a voice, though- a certifiable human voice- was enough to snap him out of his fugue.

“Howdy, Sarge. Any news from the field?”

He looked up to see Engineer, who headed to the console and handed him a bottle of the local lager. It was dripping with condensation, and Soldier suddenly realized that he was in desperate need of a cold drink. “Thanks, Engie,” he said, wrenching the cap off. “Their last report was at nineteen-hundred hours, but they didn’t have much to say. The Ruskie said our Spy and Sniper were nowhere to be found, but they managed to safeguard the landing zone for us. He said there was a sentry that must’ve destroyed our first chopper – it's no longer a threat. They nailed it.”

Engineer’s brow creased, and he fiddled with his own beer, looking troubled. His goggles were hanging around his neck, but there were red marks around his eyes where he had been wearing them recently, and one of his eyebrows was a bit singed. “I see... nothin’ from Teufort, I take it?”

“Negatory on that, private. Whatever’s become of our men, they’re still hanging on out there. No respawns have been reported from our crew.” Soldier rose to his feet and stretched for a moment, trying to ignore the creaking of his lower back. He turned to Engineer and clapped a hand against the little guy’s shoulder, peering out from under the edge of his helmet. “You look worried about something. It’s written all over your face, Engie. C’mon, let’s step outside where it’s not so damned dusty.”

“It ain’t anythin’ I oughta complain t’ you about,” he said quietly, but Soldier was already steering him out of the penthouse. There were a few fold-out chairs on the roof, and they set them outside the penthouse door, then settled down to enjoy the night breeze.

Soldier cleared his throat, looking at the shorter man with a serious expression. “Private! Have I ever forbid you from complaining to me about anything?”

This took Engineer by surprise, and he actually had to think a moment before he could answer. “Well, hell no... I mean, you know me. I think pissin’ and moanin’ about every little thing is a waste of time. If there’s a problem serious enough to complain about, you oughta’ be out doin’ something about it instead.”

“I like that about you, private,” Soldier said, patting Engineer on the back. “You don’t do half as much bellyaching as anyone else on this team. Maybe even less! As a matter of fact, I can’t even remember the last time I heard you bitch about anything. So I’m pretty sure I can forgive you if there’s something you’ve got to get off your chest.”

Engineer gave a long, low sigh. “I reckon I’ve done all I can about this, at least ‘til we ship out... shoot, I guess it won’t hurt ta talk about it. I’m just worried about my buddy Sniper, lost out there in the middle of God-knows-what. I mean, he- he’s a big boy, I know he can handle himself. Guess I’m just thinkin’ too much about all the things that won’t kill a man right away, but’ll make him wish it had. Bear traps. Poisonous animals. Exposure.”

Soldier lifted his helmet off and scratched his head, frowning pensively. He knew the Texan’s genius sometimes manifested in this kind of over-imaginative thinking, but it was something that Engineer usually managed to keep to himself. (When benzedrine isn’t involved, at least.) This didn’t sound like drug-induced rambling, so Soldier decided not to treat it as such. He was still a little confused by the extent of Engineer’s worries, though. “Sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into that. You didn’t spend the whole evening thinking of ways the kiwi could mangle himself out there, did you?”

“What? Oh, no, I’ve been workin’ on something. I’ll hafta show you, once it’s good and ready. I just... dammit, these thoughts just keep popping up in my head.” Engineer chugged the last of his beer, then set the bottle down and looked strangely small.

(Would he worry about me like that?) Soldier wondered, then tried to push the thought from his head. It made him feel stupid to think such things. He straightened his posture and said, “Chin up, private! You know that Sniper’s spent more time crawling around jungles than the rest of us combined. Him and Spy are both good at keeping out of sight. It’s why we sent them there in the first place! I have confidence in the man, and you should too.”

“Yer right, of course. I mean, I know he’s an experienced survivalist. ...say, I’m gonna pick up a few beers from that canteen downstairs, and take ‘em back to our room. You wanna come with me?” The Texan seemed less anxious than before, and as he thought of the situation they were currently in, Soldier decided that this was probably the most productive way he could spend the rest of the night.

“I’d never turn down an invitation from you, Engie! C’mon, let’s get down off this rooftop...”



The only people in the cantina were Pyro and Demoman, and a tourist couple who seemed baffled by the mercenaries. The Scotsman was sleeping amidst an assortment of empty glasses, but Pyro half-turned and waved to his teammates as they walked in.

“Hey there, Pyro!” Engineer greeted him, smiling.

Soldier straightened up and tapped the brim of his helmet, then shouted, “At ease, private!”

The firebug was hard to understand as always, but he sounded like he was in a good mood. “Grrd hmmphlm! Drrg hffy grrd drr shrrflrrm?”

After taking a moment to decipher that statement, the mechanic nodded. “Seems they did. We’ll have a safe place to touch down when we ship out tomorrow morning, thanks to them.”

Deep down, Pyro was probably a little disappointed that napalm hadn’t been instrumental in the mission so far. He sighed wistfully, but gave the others an encouraging thumbs-up. As Engineer bought a six-pack of lager from the canteen, Soldier stepped up beside Pyro and clapped a hand firmly against his rubber-suited shoulder.

“Yeah, son, I know what you’re thinkin’. We’re all chomping at the bit to get out there and raise some hell. You just make sure the Cyclops gets to his bed in one piece, then go catch yourself some shut-eye. Come hell or high water, we are going to be on that island no later than sunrise!”



Soldier opened the balcony door to let a breeze in, then kicked his boots off and flopped back on one of the beds. He smiled as Engineer sat down beside him with the six-pack in hand, feeling particularly glad for the little guy’s friendship. “Well, that’s that for today, I guess. Pisses me off to think there’s nothing I could have done to change the way it happened... bah, at least one good thing’s come out of this.”

Engineer propped a pillow against the headboard and leaned back against it, giving Soldier a curious look as he cracked open a beer. “What’d that be, Sarge?”

The mission was weighing heavily on Soldier’s mind, compounding his frustration. The last place he wanted to be during this sort of operation was mission control, sitting on his thumbs while his teammates got all the action. Unexpected catastrophe had only added to Soldier’s desire to get out into the field. With two men missing and the rest of the group divided up, he was impatient to rally his team and crush the enemy. If everything had gone according to plan, of course, he would have been on the island by nightfall. But now, even though he was stuck waiting at the hotel, Soldier could see a positive side to the situation. He reached across Engineer’s back and gave the Texan a clumsy hug. “Since we’ve got to wait ‘til tomorrow anyhow, it means you and me can have a couple beers and get a good night’s sleep.”

“Right now, I think gettin’ my mind off these troubles is definitely the best thing I could be doing.” Engineer looked up at Soldier, smiling softly, and passed a bottle to him. “Cheers, buddy.”

They drank for a while and enjoyed each other’s company, not saying much, but not feeling the need to. The warmth of his teammate’s presence helped Soldier think less about the day’s events. Leaning back against the pillows, with Engineer’s head resting on his shoulder, he felt as though he could fall asleep right there – in his uniform and everything. Even though there were worries on both of their minds, there was something about being with Engineer that made him certain things would work out in the end. He didn’t know if it was the beer or the company he was in, but a comfortable heat was brewing in the pit of Soldier’s stomach. Feeling confused but happy, he finally drifted off.

Captcha says; scientific rtekly. I'm guessing Engineer picked this one?

Ahhh, helmet party buddy-times! I absolutely loved the way you described it in your previous fic, with one full sentence no less if memory serves, and the story feels a little more full and perfect now that this little chapter's in it. Seriously, the way you wrote it was my exact head-canon 'Soldier and Engineer friendship if not relationship'-view!

Yes, Helmets! That was somehow exactly the update I wanted, too. I'm never one of many words, so I can't really explain why I love this fic so much, but I do! I'm glad this is a fic that is updated regularly.

While it hasn't been the focus of much of my art or writing (I don't know if I can do it justice), I loves me some helmet party. My secret fangirl head!canon is really "total fuckfest", I just haven't figured out a way to work that into a story that makes any sense. Maybe I need to write more PWP...

This scene was originally going to come after a vignette with Spy, Sniper and their mystery guest, but I decided I wanted to pace things out differently. It'll all be happening around the same time, anyhow.
_____________________________________

The camouflaged Huey and its occupants had survived the night unmolested, and a burst of static jarred them from sleep. Scout groaned and hunched his shoulders, hoping someone else would rise to deal with the radio console, but his teammates were conspiring against him. On the other side of Heavy’s massive bulk, he could see Medic stir a little. The doctor’s voice was muffled. “...answer ze verdammt radio, boy...”

“Fuckin’ asshole...” Scout grumbled and forced himself up, then crawled forwards into the driver’s seat. The headphones buzzed again, and he pulled them over his hat, yawning as he answered the radio’s summons. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”

Soldier’s voice came through. “Scout! We are currently inbound! E.T.A.: one hour! What is your team’s status?”

“Uh... nothin’ new here, man. Those lazy bastards are still asleep.” Scout shifted the headset off and grinned as he heard Soldier’s yelling. The tinny, distorted quality of the older man’s voice seemed hilarious at this time of day. He could almost imagine there was a miniature Soldier in the radio, jumping up and down and screaming angrily.

“Wake them up! All of you should be out there patrolling the landing zone, RIGHT NOW!”

“Sure, I’ll—hey, you wanna’ talk to them right now? I can put the Doc on; he’s moving a little. Maybe you oughta’ tell him to get off his ass. He never listens to me...” Scout glanced over his shoulder and leered at Medic, who was definitely waking up now, and not in the mood to get bawled out by Soldier. The German glared and shook his head vigorously, then drew a slash line across his throat and pointed meaningfully at Scout.

“I’m sure you can pass on my instructions yourself, maggot! Stop wasting time, and SECURE THE DAMN STAGING AREA! If we get shot down on the way in, I swear in the name of God and all that is holy, I will jump out of this helicopter and stomp your lazy asses into the ground! SOLDIER OUT!”

The radio squealed sharply as the transmission ended, and Scout gave a yelp of pain. “Ow! Fuckin’ feedback... were you slobs listening? We better make sure nobody came through here in the night.” He looked over at his older teammates, who were finally rousing themselves from the back of the helicopter. Scout sighed and put the earphones down, yawning as he did so. Even huddled beside the gigantic Russian for warmth, he hadn’t slept all that well. Deciding that he couldn’t afford the fatigue right now, he clambered back and fished a can of soda out of his pack, then chugged it. The double-whammy of sugar and caffeine began to take hold on him, and he immediately found himself itching to escape the confines of the UH-1.

“That ve are still here is a good sign, ja? I don’t suppose ze enemy vould heff come through here overnight...” Medic was cleaning his glasses on his shirtfront, and struggling not to yawn. He squinted myopically at Scout, then Heavy. “Zere are many plants in this part of ze world that can kill a man, or incapacitate him vith excruciating pain. If you feel ze need to supplement your rations vith some of ze local flora, take my advice: unless it looks like a banana, don’t touch it.”

“Yeah, I got it... sheesh, you think I’m a fuckin’ two-year-old or somethin’?” Scout rolled his eyes as he pulled the door open, and stepped out into the misty clearing. “I’m gonna go take a leak. I’ll letchya know if I see anything wierd.”

The sun had not yet risen, but Scout could see the world around him growing brighter by degrees. He was tempted to just run around and see if he could find any trouble, but common sense managed to override his boredom. Instead, he just wandered back into the banana grove they’d denuded, and relieved himself on a tree trunk. (Geeze, I thought hiding out in the jungle would be a lot cooler. This has just been like a real lame camping trip, so far. Didn’t even bring any fuckin’ marshmallows to roast.)

As Scout mulled about the mosquitoes and the bad weather, a rustling sound caught his attention. Instinct kicked in, and he went stock-still, eyes wide, scanning the trees for movement. Before he could see who was coming, he could hear them. Two people were on approach to the clearing, neither of whom was making any effort to hide their presence.

(They don’t know we’re here. Better go tell the others. ...or maybe I’ll eavesdrop, see if I can figure out who they are...) Crouching down amongst the undergrowth, Scout summoned all his self-control, and managed to remain silent and still while the intruders came into view.

A hot jolt of alarm went off in his chest. Between the trees, the two people passed by in ignorance of Scout’s presence, and he was suddenly struggling to make sense of the mission, the intel, and what he was seeing. (What the fuck is he doing here?!)

They were RED mercenaries, there was no doubt of that. One of them was a stranger to Scout: a huge man in the uniform of a heavy weapons specialist, sans flak jacket, with a dingy rag tied over his bald scalp. The other was a wirey youth with black hair, wearing shorts and a black t-shirt. He was a year older than Scout. It was with a sudden roll of nostalgia and horror that he realized who this motherfucker was. His name was Andy. He was from the same neighborhood as Scout, had gone to the same school, and signed up to work for the same company because it was safer than being drafted.

He spoke to the big man as they trundled through the undergrowth. “Y’see, I told ya we’re not gettin’ any action out here. Fuckin’ Colonel Sanders gets to run around outside all day, and what’s he tell us? ‘Durr, we can’t afford to lose any more men. Don’t leave the compound.’ But when there’s grunt-work ta do? Bam! ‘Tex lost a sentry and he’s too busy to leave, so you two go cut it up for scrap!’ Fuck, man...”

“Sentry never destroys itself. Other men are on this island, now. Soon, we have killing to do.” The Heavy was carrying something. As Scout got a better look, he realized it was a pair of fire axes. Probably for tearing down what was left of that sentry. Hopefully, not for chopping through his ribs.

This was the first thing he’d seen in the past few moments that made any sense to him. (Okay, so these other RED guys came here to salvage metal. For the Engineer on their team. Right. So he can build more stuff. Like sentries. Like the sentry thing that shot down one of OUR helicopters, and tried to fuckin’ KILL me yesterday. Why the hell are other RED company mercs trying to kill us?!) Finding the neighborhood bully on a tropical island was weird, but it was the least baffling aspect of the situation... and, the least worrisome.

Andy and the big Slav failed to notice Scout, for which he was quietly grateful. He watched as they moved out into the clearing, passing within twenty feet of the camouflaged Huey; whether it was blind luck or a lack of wariness on the intruders’ part, the helicopter did not attract any attention, and Scout could still hear them talking as they disappeared from view.

Creeping out from behind the foliage, Scout discovered a muddy pathway that led into the jungle–the route those strange mercenaries had been walking when he first spotted them. He tried to remember the map of the island, and was now wishing that he had done more than glance at it a few times. (The estate’s gotta be in that direction... I think.) Peering off towards the clearing, he frowned, then set off in pursuit of the two interlopers.

When Scout came up alongside the helicopter, he peered inside, half-expecting to see something unspeakable. He found that Heavy and Medic were just sharing something from the ration pack, though, and breathed a secret sigh of relief. (Spy said they’re like, boyfriend and girlfriend or something. Gross. Maybe he was just making that shit up, but I don’t ever wanna catch those guys necking. Or worse.) He shuddered at the thought, then knocked on the window. When Heavy looked over his way, he held up two fingers, then pointed in the direction he’d seen the other men heading. Deciding that was enough of an explanation, Scout left his teammates and hurried off into the clearing.

Andy was still talking loudly as Scout caught up to him and the ‘do-rag wearing Heavy. “...think it’s fuckin’ treasure in there? That’s the only thing that makes sense, ain’t it? I mean, nobody would go through that much trouble to lock up, I dunno, catacombs or some shit. And remember the letters carved into that door? ‘R.C.’ Like, ‘Roman Catholic’. Or 'R.C. Cola'... nah, that doesn't make sense. I bet it’s somethin’ from the Vatican! Mom always told me the Pope’s got a shitload of treasure from, like, back when the church useta’ own everything. Even one fuckin’ piece of that stuff would be priceless.”

“Engineer promised us we are rich for life, if we do this thing,” the bigger man rumbled, sounding weary and despondent. “Now we wait on this island to die, while he hides down there all day, saying he needs more time to open the way in.”

“What’s got you all bitched up, man? So we lost a couple guys. So what? I never liked that French fuck, anyhow. We’re better off without him. Though I gotta’ admit, the way he went was kinda gruesome. ...but hey, it proved that those pit traps work. What’d the kangaroo-fucker call those things? Punjab sticks?”

“Punji sticks.”

None of this conversation made much sense to Scout, and by eavesdropping, he found himself with more questions than answers. As they reached the site of the destroyed sentry, Scout realized he was running short on cover. He huddled behind a thick clump of succulents, and swore as he found he had rubbed up against something covered in countless wicked spines.

The huge mercenary went still, and set down one of the fire axes he’d been carrying. “Quiet. I hear something .”

“Huh? What?” Andy, a lad no older than twenty one, who had been a RED scout himself, with whom Scout had never traded anything worse than punches and foul language, now picked up an axe; Scout realized in an instant that if the other boy found him, he was going to kill him.

(Or try to kill me, anyhow,) Scout thought, and a tense smile tugged at his face. He just had to get the jump on them. (Okay, so it’s two against one. They’ve got fuckin’ axes. I’ve got a gun. I’d better go after big dude first... if I can get him good right off the bat, he’ll be dead, or at least too crippled to give me much trouble.)

They had split off and were approaching from either side of the cactus growth, leaving Scout in an uncomfortable position–whoever he attacked, his back would be exposed to the other one. Hoping his teammates would show up soon, he turned in the Slav’s direction and charged out from under cover, unloading his scattergun at the unsuspecting man. “Surprise, dumbass!” Scout’s target roared in pain, crying blood. They were only separated by a distance of five or six feet. Way too close for comfort. As the injured Heavy took a swing with his axe, it was suddenly apparent to Scout that he had should have waited for backup.

The blade ripped through his left forearm, cutting to the bone. He gave a whoop of pain and scrambled back, horribly aware that he couldn’t fire a scattergun one-handed, let alone reload it in a hurry. Out the corner of his eye, Scout caught a glimpse of movement; he half-turned and lunged off to one side, narrowly avoiding the axe that Andy had just tried to bury between his shoulders.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here, you son of a whore?!” Andy seemed surprised to see a familiar face, but not too surprised to keep attacking Scout.

The black-haired youth hacked viciously at him, but the Scout was damned and determined to save his hide from any further damage, and bounded off into the bushes. “Too slow, shit-head! C’mon, just try to catch me!” Scout yelled, feeling electrified by the adrenaline in his veins. He knew he couldn’t take down the other mercenaries on his own, now, but he was hardly spent. Gritting his teeth from the pain, he managed to stow the gun in his pack without stopping, and wondered if the noise was enough for Heavy and Medic to find him by. “Come and get me, faggot!”

Somewhere far behind him, Andy’s teammate was bellowing, his face full of buckshot. Scout was pretty confident that the guy wouldn’t be too dangerous now. At least, not from a distance. (I remember Sniper talking about people hunting rhinos and elephants and shit, how sometimes they just get more pissed off and violent if you shoot them. Did I just piss off that big guy even more? ...well, he probably can’t do much with no gun, and half his face missing. They’ll just hafta put him down like a rabid dog.) The thought of a crazed giant chasing him with an axe was a little scary, but his real problem right now was the other boy. Scout was peering through the bushes in search of his own teammates when a root snagged his ankle, and he toppled forwards into the foliage.

Andy gave a barbaric scream and came crashing after him, like some kind of beardless Celtic warrior out for blood in the pre-dawn mist. Scout rolled onto his back, and as the blade’s flash sent instinctive dread down his spine, he swept one of his long legs upwards and caught his would-be executioner in the solar plexus. The boy and the axe went flying.

When Scout had returned himself to an upright position, he saw Andy trying to wrestle the weapon free from a prickly pear’s woody undergrowth. (Guess it would’ve been too much trouble for him to land on that fuckin’ thing,) he thought, then lunged at his assailant and hooked his right arm around the older scout’s neck. Faced with the prospect of strangulation, Andy let go of his axe and aimed a savage donkey-kick at Scout’s shin. They fell to the ground and immediately began a more vicious, dangerous sort of brawl than any they’d had in their old schoolyard.

Scout was feeling very much at home with the situation, as though in the middle of the jungle, he had found himself in familiar territory. “Gonna’ beat you like your dad beats your mom, cocksucker!” he spat, splitting his knuckles on Andy’s front teeth.

“Fuckin’ gonna kill you!” Andy grabbed Scout’s wounded arm and gave it a hard twist, drawing a howl of pain from its owner. Using this distraction to his advantage, he shoved Scout down and began choking the life out of him.

All the altercations Scout had ever had in his old neighborhood were starting to look like good fun by comparison. As darkness began to creep at the corners of his eyes, he tightened his fist and furiously slugged at the older boy’s face. Andy lurched with each blow, dripping blood and snot, but held on with relentless and murderous intent. Then a shotgun barked twice, and Scout found he could breathe again.

He struggled onto hands and knees, choking but alive, and tried to figure out what had just happened. An awful noise scraped at his eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. Scout realized it was Andy, screaming as he crashed away through the bushes. Half of Andy’s forearm was lying in the dirt nearby. After staring dizzily at the freckled, blood-spattered stump for a second, Scout lurched to his feet and tried not to throw up. He could see Heavy standing nearby with shotgun in hand, and Medic appeared alongside the big Russian, wide-eyed with concern.

“You should have vaited for us,” the doctor hissed. “Were zere others vith him?”

“No time to explain, Doc’ ,” Scout coughed, and gestured in the direction he’d come running. “You guys finish off the big motherfucker over there, I think he’s shot up pretty good. I’m gonna’ get that bastard!” With that, Scout took off in pursuit of the maimed youth, leaving his teammates to wonder what had just happened and who the hell that other Scout was.

The plot thickens! Yes yes YES YES YES!!!

Oooh, this is reminding me more and more of Heart of Darkness (or Apocalypse Now, I suppose) Is the mysterious RED soldier going to have the severed heads of his enemies stuck on poles around the compound?

The horror! The horror!

With how much Sniper worried in the last story about his teammates finding out he was homosexual, it would be funny as hell if not only did none of them mind but the majority were gay as well.

I always do a little internal dance of joy at these updates. With this one, it took me a moment to parse out those initials, and now that I have, I'll be doing a big internal dance of joy - I don't know what's coming, but I know it's gonna be big.

Man, poor Scout is going to be in for a shock when Andy dies and doesn't respawn.

Not that Andy doesn't deserve it, he sounds like a real dick.

So far this chapter and the handjob chapter are my favourite ones; the former provides plot development and satisfying ass-kicking of Demo-killers (and now apparently Spy-killers too), while the latter provides sexy action of my favourite pairing. Good stuff, good stuff.

Pretty much my only criticism is that "the fruit of their labor" is imo an excessively flowery euphemism for come.

>>37

Seriously. Sniper, Spy, Engineer, Heavy and Medic are at the very least bisexual, and Scout's very worst reaction to homosexuality is "eww, I don't want to watch two guys have sex." Even if Soldier and Demo were violently homophobic, at this point it seems like Sniper's "my life is going to be ruined!" agony was one hell of an overreaction.

Guess hindsight is 20/20.

Eh, while I fantasize about full-team sex parties and rampant promiscuity, I imagine anyone on the team who was actually gay would be furtive about it; it's the 60's, after all. For the sake of trying to keep my fangirl schlock semi-credible, I'm just operating under the assumption that whether for fear of persecution or their personal emotional baggage, nobody's doing much asking or telling.

>>36 The title of this story comes from T.S. Eliot's poem "The Hollow Men" (which starts with a line from "Heart of Darkness"). So yeah, there's a connection there. ...I'm such a nerd.

I'm such a nerd.
You say that like it's a bad thing.

I was living some of my own, old revenge-fantasies through Scout here. Not sure if that's healthy or actually beneficial in terms of helping me get into this story better. Not that I wasn't already in this story, mind you.

So much powerful action and I'm pumped to read some more of it! That, and the next hot sex scene whenever it comes up.

I don't really know what people consider an OC (or their feelings about such), but for simplicity's sake, I'll just lay this out now: For all intents and purposes, characters like Andy the scout and Québécois!Spy aren't significantly different from their default counterparts. I mostly added a few touches to differentiate them so scenes with say, more than one scout, would be a little easier to parse.

_______________________________

Sniper was waking up gradually, fighting to gather inertia in the face of multitudinous physical complaints. He hadn’t even opened his eyes yet, and he was already wondering if he should have fallen asleep at all. (I used to be able to catch a wink anywhere, now look at me... must be turning into an old man. One night on a hard floor, and every joint in my body’s aching. Crashing that helicopter yesterday probably didn’t help, either.) Although he knew lying in one place wouldn’t solve anything, Sniper felt so sore and tired that he was tempted to try and drift off again. His stomach growled audibly. (Christ, I should just put my clothes on, go take a piss, then look for food. I hope bananas are enough to keep a grown man’s strength up.)

Opening his eyes, the first thing he saw was the back of Spy’s balaclava-clad cranium. No big surprise. Sniper was pretty confident the other man would keep mum about what they’d done the night before. (Both of us were cold and drunk, and he’s learned his lesson about blackmailing me.) Thoughts of Engineer trickled through his mind, and he suddenly found himself feeling terrible for having gone M.I.A. in the first place. (My God, he’s probably worried sick about me. I have be careful, have to get myself back to him in one piece. ...what if I’ve gotten too relaxed about my survival since I started working for RED? Could they have lied to us about the respawn system? One wrong move, and I could wind up like that poor sod we found yesterday...)

Trying to push these worries out of his mind, Sniper sat up groggily, then froze as he heard someone speak. “It’s about goddamn time you slobs woke up. I t’ought I might have to just leave wit’ all your stuff.”

Alarm tore through Sniper’s body like a bolt of lightning; even in the dim light, it was apparent that the two RED mercenaries had been relieved of their equipment. He rose to a crouch and glared at the intruder, trying to find words as he reached for Spy’s shoulder and shook the masked man. “We’ve got an intruder,” Sniper hissed.

Seated on the opposite side of the barn, outside the office-space but in full view, was a thin man in a blue, pinstriped suit. A spy belonging to the enemy team, no doubt. Even with a balaclava covering his face, Sniper recognized this one. They had traded enough verbal abuse (and stab wounds) that his galling Québécois accent was unforgettable. Right now, the BLU spy was observing them with a smug expression, no doubt gloating over the heap of weapons he had confiscated. “What kind of survival expert packs a bottle of Tanqueray, but forgets to bring any kind of rations, eh? I was hoping I could steal somet’ing better den bananas from you. Hostie des bananes...”

Sniper’s teammate had only taken a moment to wake up after hearing another person in the room. Now he was doing his best to keep cool, although his success was somewhat limited. Even Spy had a hard time looking composed in nothing but underwear and a mask. His cloaking device was still present, but with the enemy’s eyes on him, he probably couldn’t use it to much effect. “Fils de putain... By ze fact zat we are still alive, I assume you want something more of us than our belongings?”

“Give da man a prize. I want you chumps to listen to me, for a start. You’ve got no reason to believe a word I say, but... well, take da fact you’re still alive as a show of fait’, eh?”

“Go on, then,” Sniper growled, and tried to find a more comfortable way to sit on the cold concrete floor. Beside him, Spy was watching his BLU counterpart with an impassive expression, probably wracking his brain for a way to turn the situation around.

“I was going to kill you guys when I found you last night, but I decided to listen a while first. I t’ought you were wit’ da other ones here, you see? But now it’s starting to make more sense to me. Everyt’ing is. You don’t even know why you got sent here in da first place, do you?”

The BLU agent’s teeth seemed to gleam in the early-morning gloom. Sniper didn’t know if he was waiting for an answer, but the fact that they’d been found and didn’t even know it sent hot prickles up the Australian’s spine. “How long’ve you been following us?”

“Following? Haha, I haven’t followed you a step. I was in here da whole time, tête carré. ...dat was a nice bit of, uh-” He flashed a grin, and made an obscene jerking motion with his fist.

RED Spy suddenly seemed to convulse with anger, and grabbed Sniper’s shoulder, digging in his fingertips. “You disgusting, underhanded voyeur! If you ‘ave taken more photographs of me, I assure you, your punishment will be twice as painful as ze last...”

“Maybe I have. I t’ink you’ve got bigger problems den dat right now, eh? How about surviving da next 24 hours? Da plantation is a warzone from here on in, you just can’t hear it.”

Sniper didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking, but the Québécois’ warning about the territory they were in got his mind back on track. “How d’you mean that? Is it mined? We ‘aven’t seen any-” He was going say “fighting”, but Spy’s grip tightened.

Without moving his lips, he whispered, “Tell him nothing.”

The marksman clammed up, but it didn’t seem to rouse much suspicion from their unwanted guest. “Of course you haven’t. Nobody plants land mines where you’re going to see dem. Da whole Goddamn jungle is full of traps; I spotted a couple, and I wasn’t going to take a chance at finding more da hard way. Dere’s a shortcut to da main complex which should be safe, but you’re never going to find it on your own.” He tapped his left temple with a gloved fingertip, and added, “I already know where it is.”

“You’re expecting us to walk ahead of you in case you’re wrong? Is that it?” Sniper’s lip curled in an expression of incredulity.

The BLU spy laughed. “Dat’s a good idea, but no. Right now, you’re no good to me if you’re dead.” After pausing to light a new cigarette, he took in a lungful of smoke and frowned. “I need manpower. I’ve been watching carefully since I got here, and da only ones I’ve seen so far are dat crazy soldier and his little sidekick. You two gave me a scare when I first saw you, I t’ought you were wit' dem.”

“What about your mates? They all fall in a hole somewhere?”

He sniffed irritably. “You saw da wreckage coming in, I heard you mention it last night. Only two of us lived t’rough it, and dat son of a bitch got da other guy. He patrols da island. It’s probably dumb luck dat he didn’t find you.”

“Who, the soldier you were spying on? Oi- that crash was still burning when we passed by it! How the hell ‘ave you been all over this place, in the time it took us to just get here?”

“How fucking stupid are you, tête carré? I know my way around here because I’ve been stationed on dis island before. We fought over da plantation about two years ago. It went on for mont’s. Dere was somet’ing dat made our electronics keep fucking up; our engineer could never get his teleporters to work right, da radio was always piping out dis weird static, computers burned demselves out... shit like dat. Everyone just sort of gave up after a while. I guess da REDs here were having problems, too.” It was entirely possible that the BLU spy was lying, but his joual drawl sounded unusually serious. “Dey said we’d come back once someone figured out where dat electrical interference was coming from.”

Spy’s fingers dug into Sniper’s shoulder again. He was troubled, his mind racing to analyze all this new information and determine how much of it might be true. “Ze other men you ‘ave seen, were they ze same ones you fought before, when you were ‘ere?”

There was an expression of vague disgust on the BLU spy’s face; he seemed intrinsically repulsed to be answering his counterpart’s questions. This suggested there was truth to his words, though – he wouldn’t have been troubled by lying to a RED employee. “Yeah. My team hasn’t been pitted against dat cohort since, though. Da last time I saw dem was on dis island.”

(If that mush-mouthed little ponce isn’t lying, then what does this mean for us? I’ve got to try and piece this all together...) As he listened to the enemy spy, Sniper was also thinking hard about these revelations. (So, our company sends a team of mercenaries to fight over this old banana farm. Their machines are acting shonky the whole time they’re here, and they unanimously decide to put it off for the time being. Two years later they send us here to establish a fresh staging area, one that’s outside of the plantation. We’re shot down, along with a team of BLUs – by one of the RED fighters who was originally stationed on the island, if this spy is to be believed.)

“What is it you want us to do?” Spy asked. Sniper kept his face impassive as he waited for an answer; he was prepared to cooperate as long as was necessary to get their weapons back, but it was hard to imagine that the BLU agent had anything good in mind for them.

“Were you listening? I need backup, here. Manpower. Dere’s a crazy motherfucker wit’ a rocket launcher out dere, and I can’t get close enough to put him out of my misery.”

“Perhaps you should leave ‘im to a more skilled assassin? Return my equipment to me, Mssr., and I will solve zis problem of yours.” Spy folded his hands together and gave a patronizing smile, which didn’t seem to improve the other man’s mood.

“A skilled assassin wouldn’t be begging in his underwear! Crisse le camp, just see how far you’ll get wit' no fucking weapons. ...dis soldier, he’s not like da one you guys work wit’. He’s, uh... he’s like a fucking cat, eh? Not’ing gets past dis guy. Maybe he fought in da jungle before, I don’t know, but I could never sneak up on him,” the French Canadian hissed, then straightened his tie and resumed studying the two REDs.

“We’re not great friends here, but unless you want to step on a land mine, you’re going to have to work wit’ me. Whatever dey are up to, it’s got somet’ing to do wit’ da manor dis estate was built around. Da soldier went in and out a couple times, and da only time I saw anyone else was when his engineer came outside wit’ him to share a smoke. We get in dere, we can kill da little guy, den wait for da soldier to turn up and kill him too. ...I don’t t’ink he’s crazy enough to use his rocket launcher indoors.” The BLU agent flicked away his cigarette butt, then grabbed the stolen bottle of gin and took a swig. He regarded the other men with a deadpan look on his face. “So, are you in?”

Sniper and Spy glanced at each other, both sensing a sort of defeat. Whether the man in blue was being honest or not, agreeing was the only way they could get their weapons back. “Seein’ as we’ve got so much choice in the matter, I reckon we’ll have to say ‘yes’. Now are you gonna pull a gun on me if I move, or can I go get my bloody clothes on?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The intruder made a dismissive gesture, and busied himself with another cigarette. “Put some pants on, tête carré, I’m tired of looking at your balls. You too, De Gaulle. I’ll hang onto your toys until I’m good and ready to hand dem over...”

Joual!Spy is da best Spy, tabarnac.

I'm liking this BLU Spy a lot. He is a very entertaining jerkass, I'm very curious to see his further interactions with Sniper and Spy :) Especially it they involve sexy times, as this BLU Spy appears to quite enjoy watching two hot men go at it.

But... if this BLU Spy is the one who took the pictures of RED Spy with BLU Scout's mother (since RED Spy says "more photographs of me"), and his teammates have been murdered... Does that mean that the BLU Scout in Meet The Spy is dead?

If that's the case, I hope those RED assholes die an extremely horrible death. I already hated them a lot, but damn, killing that particular BLU Scout is one especially low kick-the-puppy move.

And speaking of death, I find it a little weird that the BLU Spy and RED Sniper and Spy haven't mentioned the apparent lack of Respawn. Granted, they have only been talking for a few minutes. But for people who are effectively immortal, finding out why they may have suddenly gone mortal should be a mayor priority, I'd expect at least a small discussion about the topic.

Even if RED Spy didn't want to tell the BLU anything because the two RED were pretty much hostages and humiliated, I imagine the BLU Spy would have mentioned it, if only to give his proposal more weight ("if you die, you die for real, so you'd best join forces with somebody who knows where the traps are").

I'm looking forward to the next chapter.

>>45 He might be the same BLU Spy. You'll have to wait for answers to the other questions, but it's interesting you mention the respawn thing; I'd originally intended this vignette to be much longer, but broke it up into two parts for the sake of pacing. They will touch on the dubious state of their prospects for respawning out here.

___________________________________

Feeling tired, sore and irritable, Sniper followed the BLU spy down a narrow path, with his teammate close behind. He was sorely tempted to jump the thief and reclaim his belongings, but the chance of stumbling onto land mines without the BLU’s guidance loomed large in his mind. At any rate, the Canadian seemed to know more about this terrain than the map did, and he was taking up the most dangerous position in their formation. (I suppose he doesn’t think we’re likely to be attacked yet. If someone pops up and shoots him, we’ll get our things back...) The thought made Sniper smile a little, in spite of everything. Trying to ignore the breakfast of half-ripe bananas that was making his stomach cramp, he peered around the dense stand of trees they were walking through, tensely aware that any oversight could have lethal consequences. As he glanced underfoot, Sniper realized that the walkway they were on was recent construction, a long slab of cement that was already under assault by lianas and the roots of trees.

They walked in silence. Sniper knew the value of keeping mute under these circumstances, perhaps even more than the two spies. He’d learned the hard way that the most dangerous animals you’ll meet in the jungle are other humans. (Won’t let that happen again. I doubt these yobs would see a reason to take me hostage, anyhow. They’d just shoot me.) Still, he was aching to milk the BLU spy for more information. He wondered how to broach the topic of respawn without revealing any of their own discoveries to the enemy.

As they came around a curve in the path, a squat concrete shed could be seen just ahead. It looked to Sniper like a shelter for pumping equipment or generators, but unexpectedly, the BLU agent spoke.

“Our respawn room was down here. Dis is like, uh... like da service entrance, eh? It joins to a tunnel dat comes out in da middle of da compound. Da whole t’ing is sealed off to REDs – but I can get you in.” He wrenched open a rusty circuit box by the door, and fussed over something inside for a few moments, using his body to shield it from the others. Some hidden piece of machinery whirred and groaned inside the wall, then the door panel shuddered, and slid aside to admit the three men. “You guys wanna get locked out? Vas-y!” he hissed, and was suddenly ushering Sniper in through the door.

Sniper stumbled into the building, cursing and feeling a bit rattled. (Where’d that bastard get the nerve to shove me?!) He found himself in a short hallway that ended in a round hatch, with a ladder connecting to whatever was below. Everything was gray concrete and wrought iron; the air had a choking, musty stench to it, but lacked the distinctive foetor of death. “Urrgh, what’s that pong? It’s like a bleedin’ sewer down here,” he grunted, tentatively descending the ladder.

He gave a gasp of shock as he felt his boots plunge into ankle-deep water. When his eyes had adjusted to the dim emergency lightning, Sniper realized he was standing in a respawn room quite similar to all the others he’d seen. There was a grated hole in the middle of the room, no doubt a drain to facilitate cleaning and maintenance, but rainfall had backed-up the disused outpost’s plumbing. Now the chamber was flooded and the walls dripped with condensation, rotting away some old signs and posters that were left behind. His voice sounded strange to him in that murky, confined space. “What happened to the respawn machines on the island?”

RED Spy grunted in disgust as he came off the ladder, and the other masked man followed. “What da fuck do you t’ink happened to dem? We took all our expensive equipment when we left dis shit-hole. Good t’ing, too, it probably wouldn’t work after marinating here for two years wit’out maintenance.” He knocked a fist against the grimy wall and sighed, his expression lost in the gloom. “Yeah, we’re at da mercy of company satellites out here. If I bite da big one, I’ll probably wake up in goddamn New Mexico.”

The two RED mercenaries traded meaningful, uncertain glances through the dark. This went unnoticed by their guide, who was already leaving the flooded room. The hall beyond was similarly dingy, and as Sniper hurried to follow, he wrinkled his nose at the mildew smell that seemed to pervade everything around them. “Did you blokes not think to rip out th’ carpeting in here? I’ve been in cisterns that smelled better.”

“If da guy who collects his own piss can’t stomach a little mold, he can take da lead and get out of here first. I’ll even give you your weapons back, how’s dat?” The BLU spy was suddenly rifling through Sniper’s rucksack, handing over the bushman’s tools.

He accepted them with a bewildered expression on his face. “Right. Well then, I’ll just... alright. Oi, how ‘bout the whole bag? I’ve got ammunition in there.”

The Québécois grabbed RED Spy and shoved him up alongside Sniper, then pressed the rucksack into its original owner’s grasp. “Fine. But you two are walking in front of me. You try anyt’ing funny, I’ll blow your brains out. Now move – it’s straight from here to da exit.”

Caught between relief and suspicion, Sniper handed over Spy’s equipment, then started down the hallway. He could see BLU control rooms to either side of him, long-since denuded of the computers they had once held, now filling with water like the rest of the building. (Was this even on the map? Dammit, I’m kicking myself for not having memorized the bloody thing.) Sniper had no idea where they were in relation to the main compound, or the dilapidated mansion that lay beyond. As he approached a heavy shutter, he cleared his throat and asked, “Once we’re out of here, what’s the safest route to the big house? Is the combat zone out there full of booby-traps, too?”

“I’ll take da lead when we get dere,” the BLU spy said tersely. “I don’t trust you bastards with my back turned, but, uh... you can’t really afford to find your own way by trial and error, eh? Watching dat soldier has given me a pretty good idea where it’s safe to walk. Well, aside from da risk of running into him. Dere are a couple of sentries, but we can disable dem.”

The shutter was unresponsive at first, and Sniper found himself eyeballing the bottom edge for hand-holds while his teammate hummed impatiently. Then the Canadian caught up with them, and after emitting a groan of protest, the metal doorway began lifting up into the ceiling.

“Allez-y, it won’t stay open once I’ve gone t’rough.”

“Right, right,” Sniper growled, and ducked to hurry through the door. The tunnel continued beyond it, but parted off in several directions; straight ahead, he could see a short passage that opened onto an overgrown courtyard. A mess of dead leaves littered the floor, and as Sniper crept over them, he suddenly felt something shift underfoot. He heard the dull, metallic “clunk” of a pressure plate.

What happened next was a blur. The world spun crazily before his eyes as something struck him from behind, hurling him off his feet. He heard RED Spy give a snarl, and as he went flying towards the ground, Sniper realized it was his teammate that had thrown him. Then there was an explosion that left his ears ringing, and the second he crashed to the ground, the Australian was scrambling to turn back and see what had happened.

“Merde... zis was not really ‘ow I wanted to go,” muttered the RED agent, who was now lying in a heap amongst the debris. He stiffened and groaned in pain as Sniper tried to prop him against the wall in a sitting pose. “D-don’t.”

“Oh Christ, mate, your feet...” Sniper was wide-eyed with horror as he realized the extent of Spy’s wounds. The masked man’s right leg was missing below the knee, and his other foot had apparently joined it in oblivion. As the other spy rushed over, Sniper found himself clutching his injured teammate in a desperate hug, his mind racing for any other course of action than abandonment. “We’ve gotta get you out of here, I won’t- I mean, this is really bad, I can’t just leave you for dead. This could be it, mate.”

The BLU spy swore as he surveyed the damage. His RED counterpart just grimaced, and hitched in a shaky breath of blood-tinged air. “I will die just as quickly ‘ere as I would slowing you down, mon chou. ...just go. Zere is really- nnh- nothing you can do to ‘elp it.” He looked up at Sniper through slitted eyes, and seemed to struggle to show some expression other than one of agony. “I wasn’t really thinking straight, but maybe... zis is for ze better. It would ‘ave been you, otherwise, yes? Fuck, ze pain is terrible. ...just live to tell ze others what ‘appened. Maybe- agh, maybe ‘e will find it in ‘im to forgive me, for what I did.” Spy went rigid in the marksman’s arms, choking on his words as he tried not to cry out.

“Goddammit, we don’t have time for dis! He’s fucked, we’ve got to leave him and get moving.” Shaken by the trap that had been laid for them, BLU Spy was lighting a fresh cigarette and lapsing into impatience.

Sniper felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. He glared at the other team’s spy, and swallowed back the hard knot that had formed in his throat. “I’m not ditching my own bloody teammate! Don’t you know how serious this is?! Our-” Hot needles seemed to run down his spine, and he winced, tightening his grip on the penitent Spy. “We found someone dead, alright? A demoman! Out here! Those bastards must’ve lied when they said respawn could catch us from so far away!”

“Are you sure?! Fuck, dat’s a risk we’ll have to take,” BLU Spy spat, then drew his gun and took aim at the wounded man’s head. Sniper’s limbs seemed to freeze solid.

“...fils de putain,” murmured the Frenchman.

BLU Spy pulled the trigger.

I literally gave a frightened squeak at the end there.

Obvious Pseudonym. I am on the edge of my seat here. This has got so much tension and action and drama. Can't wait for more!

"Holy shit. What a spectacular cliffhanger you got there. Seriously can't wait for the next part.

I'd say RED Spy is obviously going to die here (even ignoring BLU's shot, they are in the middle of a freaking mine-filled jungle, with a team of mercenaries out for their blood, and RED Spy's injuries are... Well I'd say he has one foot in the grave but... >_>), but MAYBE MAYBE Respawn could still work for him? Or MAYBE if they find a way to reactivate it later it could still bring Spy back from the dead if his death is very recent? Or MAYBE Medic will make an awe-inspiring "I AM ZHE UBERMENSCH!" entrance and save the day and Spy won't die after all?

I also wonder about BLU Spy's reaction to the possibility of Respawn not working. Besides the matter of self-preservation, his teammates, the people he has fought side by side with for years, may be all dead-dead. Is he going to care? Is he going to want revenge for them?

...I need to invent a time machine so I can skip ahead a few days and check the next chapter right away.

And while I'm asking so many questions, I'm quite curious about Sniper's past. Not only this fic, but Put a Spell on You also had several references to a time when Sniper was captured in the jungle and tortured. It seems to have left an extremely strong, almost PTSD-ish impression on him.

Also, are you going to post this fic (as well as PaSoY) somewhere else?

Currently your fic is THE fic I'm reading on the Chan, the one I'm always looking forward to. When the Chan went down some time ago, I did a Google search to find it again, so as to keep reading the story. But it's nowhere... No tumblr, no ff.net, no AO3, no LiveJournal...

It may be a good idea to post your works in more than a single site, it's safer that way.

For the sake of keeping suspense up, I (obviously) can't answer some of your questions here; all will be revealed in time.

The stuff about Sniper's past is just my own fangirlish version of his backstory. I like to imagine he's worked a lot in south Asia and Oceania, hunting down notorious man-eating tigers and crocodiles and rogue elephants, and finding himself embroiled in all sorts of danger along the way.

Before Y! upchucked and died, it was there. I do have a tumblr, I'm just a lazy hermit and I can't see myself really getting into reblogging crap all the time (or posting my old art). I have posted my other story there, though, and I'll eventually put this one up there too. It's at http://helpmejesus.tumblr.com/

_____________________________

Before they saw the man Scout had been talking about, they could hear him; in the bushes nearby, someone big was moving around, taking pained breaths with each step. Medic had pulled out his healing gun when the first sounds of fighting were heard, but now he found himself wondering if he shouldn't equip a more dangerous tool. “Even if ze enemy is wounded, ve should still move carefully,” he whispered, scrutinizing their surroundings for any signs of movement.

“Yes. I only hear one shot before ve find Scout... you think this man have no gun?” Heavy seemed wary but confident, holding his sidearm at the ready. With so many large plants obscuring their view, close-quarters combat was a strong likelihood.

Medic sighed uncertainly, and tried to determine the wounded man's position by sound. The crunching of undergrowth had stilled, though, and the laboured panting could barely be heard now. He clearly knew they were hunting for him, which meant one of two things to Medic: either their quarry was cowering in fear, or lying in ambush. Medic didn't like the latter possibility.

“Scout and other tiny man vere fighting bare-handed,” the Russian murmured. His height gave him a better view over the bushes, but he had yet to spot anything that roused his suspicion.

“It vould be safer to assume our enemy is armed and dangerous, mein schatz. ...hmm, vas ist-” In the gap between two dense tufts of pampas, Medic thought he could see an unusual shadow. He stepped nearer and pushed the barrel of his Medi-gun into the foliage, then pushed it aside.

As cavalier as he could be at times, Medic was still a very well-educated man, and he was always very precise about monitoring the state of his health. While he could no longer called himself youthful, his body was in excellent shape, both outside and inside – so he knew it was highly unlikely that his heart would fail as the result of an alarming discovery, no matter how grave. Nonetheless, he definitely felt like his heart had stopped dead when he parted the grass, and saw a huge man with an axe lunging at him.

The first blow whistled past Medic's face as he scrambled back, lifting the Medi-gun up to try and shield his body. “Helfen sie!” he yelped, and managed to deflect the blade with his healing ray-gun. He could hear Heavy roar as the Russian spotted their enemy, but his gunshots were not enough to slow Medic's pain-crazed accoster down.

The Medi-gun was knocked from his hands by the next strike, and as Heavy's shotgun bought him a moment of distraction, Medic hastily drew his Vita-saw and plunged it into his attacker's sizable gut. The stranger bellowed in fury and punched Medic in the teeth, knocking him onto his back.

The next few moments of Medic's life were his inauguration into a world of pain. He could see Heavy nearby, firing round after round of double-aught into the third man, then dropping his shotgun and moving in to try and wrestle his weapon away. Their enemy had clearly reached a state of superhuman rage, though, and all the pain and ghastly wounds Heavy could inflict were not enough to keep him from gutting the unfortunate doctor. By the time Heavy had pulled his opponent away from Medic, the older man had been thoroughly savaged, lying in a pool of his own blood as viscera sagged out the axe-wounds in his midsection.

Heavy caught a glimpse of his Doktor, and felt horribly certain he was dead. But there was no time for him to mourn, no time to kneel by his stricken partner's side until the German faded. Because now the Slav, who still moved, despite having a body now more torn flesh and buckshot than human, was turning his murderous attention to Heavy.

And now, Heavy was going to finish with his bare hands what mere bullets had not been able to. If he had no time to mourn, he could more than express his emotions with violence and animal fury.

__________________________

Had he gone north, Scout would have eventually found himself on the same meandering pathway that eventually brought his teammates to the empty machine shop the night before. Scout wasn’t following his map, though. He was following a person who knew the ins and outs of the local terrain, and had a good idea of which routes were booby-trapped. When he arrived at the edge of a dirt road, Scout peered down it in either direction, and saw no sign of his quarry.

“Fuck, how could he have got so far ahead?” As he tried to orient himself by the sun’s first rays, Scout realized he might have to give up the chase and look at the map for directions. He stepped out of the undergrowth and immediately slipped in the mud, then tried to catch himself. He yelped as his wounded arm gave out underneath him. More obscenities flew from the boy’s mouth. He wondered if he should have taken a moment to ask for Medic’s help before running off. Trying not to think about the dirt getting into that deep cut, he stopped to bind it with the tape from his right hand, still cursing. As he rose to his feet, something in the mud filled him with a flash of realization.

There were fresh footprints on the road that weren’t his–they were Andy’s. They cut right across the wide, muddy roadway, and lead into the foliage on the other side. Scout was back on the trail in moments, and found himself stumbling down a steep incline, thick with creepers and roots that threatened to snag him every step of the way. There was blood on the foliage, too, dark red smears that belied the other scout’s flight through the jungle. At the bottom of the hill, Scout came to a stop in a concrete-lined ditch, ankle-deep in mud and rotten leaves. He realized he was standing in a drainage channel. Handprints and blood on the low wall left a clear indication of which direction Andy had gone–and logically, which direction the plantation was in.

Scout pursued.
_______________________________________


When Spy’s untimely demise was drawing near, and Scout’s chase found him alone in dense jungle, daybreak had finally come to the island. The sun’s light was not the only thing on the horizon. Packed into the third UH-1 Iroquois, the rest of the team was finally inbound.

Although he was wedged between Demoman and Pyro, Engineer had lost himself in thought as soon as they took off, and barely noticed his surroundings. Even Soldier shouting over the radio wasn’t enough to garner his attention, and the older American himself loomed large in Engineer’s mind. He was feeling divided, mentally replaying scenes from the past few days, over and over again.

Engineer shook his head, frowning. (This is nuts, I shouldn’t even be worry about this! I’m a practical-minded man, not some silly starlet caught up in a romance movie. And Mundy doesn’t care if I spend time around Sarge, anyhow... hell, it doesn’t bother me when he goes out drinking with DeGroot, or tags along with the Doc’ on some errand. It’s not like we’ve exchanged rings or something, there’s no contract forbidding either of us from having other close friends.) He pulled his goggles off and rubbed his eyes, sighing hoarsely. (...so why’s it feel like I’m doing him wrong when I’m with Sarge? And why’s being with Sarge feel so right? God knows, it’s completely normal to be friends with someone, but have no interest in sleeping with them. I’m sure Sarge feels that way about me. And I... well, I can live with that, of course I can. I wouldn’t want to ruin our friendship by trying to get closer than we already are.)

There were times that Engineer wished he could do to the rest of himself, what he had done to his right arm. Machines were so perfect, so reliable in the hands of a competent builder. He always knew how his creations would react in any circumstances, under any foreseeable stresses they might experience in the field. Even malfunctions were nothing more than logic puzzles to him–deductions could be made, solutions tested through troubleshooting, and designs adapted to compensate for whatever had caused the problem in the first place.

(If I could understand myself–could understand people–like I do machines, this would be so much easier.) Still moping about his confusion and competing desires, Engineer looked around and discovered that sunrise was upon them. He glanced at his teammates. Pyro was turning an unlit flare between his fingers, while Demoman sucked morosely at a thermos of coffee. In the front of the helicopter, Soldier was doing his best to appropriate the radio console, which had done nothing to earn him the favor of the team’s pilot.

“SIT DOWN and SHUT UP!” the pilot barked, shoving Soldier back into the passenger’s seat. She was a husky woman of indeterminate age, clad in a red jumpsuit, her features obscured behind sunglasses and a crash helmet. “As long as you’re in my aircraft, you’ll do as I order you, merc!”

Soldier was adamant that he have access to the communications system, even if it meant leaning into the pilot’s personal space. “I AM THE OFFICER IN COMMAND HERE! It is vital to our mission that I am capable of speaking with our men on the ground, at ANY TIME!”

“You want us to land in one piece or not?! We’ve got no fucking forward air control, so make yourself useful and watch for trouble down there! And KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF THE CONSOLE!” The Huey was loud in and of itself, but the people in the front seat were louder, and Engineer wondered if their driver really needed any distractions right now. Soldier seemed to defer to her, though, at least for the moment, and sullenly turned his attention to the scenery below.

The island was looming larger before them as each moment passed, its lowlands clearly visible, its highlands shrouded in a steep pillar of clouds. Meteorology was not one of Engineer’s areas of expertise, and he could only speculate how the weather might progress throughout the day ahead. (No rain, I hope.) Dense jungle covered every part of the rugged landscape that he could see; Engineer had read about the history of the region they were in, as well as the banana industry itself, but had been unable to glean much specifically referring to this island.

(About all I could find out is that it was purchased in the name of Zepheniah Mann, and the company ran it as a very successful plantation until the 1920’s. I can only guess ownership of it has been shuffled onto his sons, since we’re fighting over it now, but... well, there just don’t seem to be anything noteworthy about it, besides electrical malfunctions being reported by passing ships and aircraft.) Engineer pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a long, deep breath. It was clear by now that, whether through corporate ignorance or deliberate action, the RED company had neglected to tell their mercenaries a lot of things about the place where they were now expected to fight. He looked towards the front of the aircraft again, where the pilot was shouting instructions to her passengers.

“LISTEN UP! We are landing in five minutes, people! Gather your shit and get ready to bail the moment we touch down! Got that?! If you leave anything behind, I’m not flyin’ back out here just for your convenience!”

Soldier turned to his teammates and barked, “You understand all that, maggots?! GET UP AND GET READY TO MOVE! Our first goal is to locate the second team’s Huey, and muster there to make further preparations! Any word from our other men on the ground?” He shifted his attention to the pilot, who was watching the treeline like a hawk.

“Negative! All quiet!”

When the canopy parted, they could see movement in the clearing beyond, human figures obscured by shrubs and pampas grass. Soldier and the pilot both started yelling, and the other passengers couldn’t make head nor tail of what either had said. Engineer steadied himself as the aircraft descended, and when it came to rest, Pyro hauled the door open and the men spilled out into the clearing, lugging heavy packs of equipment. He saw Soldier clamber from the front seat, and raised his voice above the chopper’s. “What’d y’all see coming in here?! Where are they?!”

To his surprise, Soldier dropped his crates on the ground and hefted his shotgun out for immediate use. “MEN, WE HAVE A COMBAT SITUATION OVER HERE! LOOK SHARP!” Without another word, Soldier charged off towards the people they had seen. The others traded uneasy glances, then scrambled to catch up with him as the Huey took off again.

The flowering bushes, cycads and razor-edged grasses in the clearing made for a less than clear view of the fight, but Engineer could hear shouting as he came closer. Nearby, Demoman swore and hissed through his teeth. “That’s Heavy over there, ah’m sure of et! Steady, lads, there could be all manner o’ dangers hidin’ in the undergrowth...”

Pyro had grudgingly prepared his own shotgun for use, and seemed to be sticking close to his teammates. Up ahead, Soldier could be heard giving a bloodcurdling battle-scream, then a yell of surprise. “WHAT IN THE SAM HILL IS GOING ON HERE?!”

Engineer felt a spark of panic in his heart and lunged forwards, only to find his feet entangled in bindweed. The others failed to notice his fall, and as he got to hands and knees, he saw something that alarmed him more than Soldier’s yelling.

There was blood in the grass. A lot of blood. Someone was seated against a tree stump nearby, arms wrapped around his midsection, bleeding copiously. A tangled piece of equipment had fallen to the ground beside him, and Engineer recognized it immediately.

“Doc! Hey, Doc, you still with us? Your Medi-gun...” Engineer crawled over to the wounded man and reached out to support him with both hands. He was still breathing, albeit weakly, but his face was pale as death except where blood had poured from his bruised lips.

Medic lifted his eyes to regard Engineer; there was a bleary expression of relief in them. He said nothing, but gingerly lifted a hand to point at the Medi-gun. In the moment he did, Engineer spotted a sickening wave of motion from the place Medic had been clutching. The older gentleman’s guts were slipping from his body in a bloody cascade.

The Texan managed a choked yelp of alarm, then pushed Medic down onto the ground and tried to stop the flow of escaping organs. Medic appeared to have been split from breast to underbelly, and not in a single, clean stroke–someone had hacked the poor man open with brutal imprecision. It was difficult for Engineer to discern which parts he was really seeing, but clear that the best bet for his teammates’s survival would be to stuff everything back in and fire up the Medi-gun. “Just- just hold ‘em in there, Doc’, hang on for me.”

Although he couldn’t muster more than a bubbly groan, Medic seemed well aware of his situation. He lay there and clutched at the wound, his body tensed up in agony, his face ashen and oddly serene, but streaked with tears of pain.

Engineer’s heart was leaping in his throat as he pulled the lever on the Medi-gun, and discovered it still worked. He immediately turned its flow on the incapacitated doctor, and after several nerve-wracking moments of waiting, Medic started to show some improvement. A bit of the color returned to his face. More importantly, the bits of tissue and mangled flesh around his middle began weaving together as they assumed their intended formation. When he could finally lift his hands from his belly, Medic did just that, and gave a tremulous sigh.

“Herr Engineer... I don’t know how you found me, but... well, zank you. I vould heff languished here a while longer before ze respawn caught me, I think.” Medic didn’t seem to be feeling quite feisty enough to sit up yet, but he reached over with a bloody, gloved hand, and gently patted Engineer’s wrist.

Now that the crisis he found himself in had passed, Engineer could feel his mind easing down a few gears. All of the visceral sensations he’d been ignoring were acutely present once more, and from somewhere in the clearing nearby, he realized he could hear people talking. “Just doin’ my job,” he said shakily, slurring a little as saliva flooded his mouth. “Here, I- I know it’s kinda’ awkward, but you think you could hang onto that for a moment? The Medi-gun, I mean...”

Medic clumsily grasped the device as it was thrust into his hands, looking confused. “Ja, I think I am able to do zat much, now. Vhat are you-”

Engineer didn’t have the time to explain as he turned away; he only made it a few steps before his legs gave out, forcing him to crouch down in plain sight as he did his own rendition of spilling his guts. It wasn’t exactly the start to this mission that he’d been hoping for. (At least we’re not under fire,) he thought ruefully, trying to banish the image of Medic’s chopped-up innards from his mind. Visions of meat and tomato sauce haunted him each time he closed his eyes, which did nothing to alleviate his nausea. (Oh God, I don’t think I can ever eat spaghetti again. Least not sausage…)

While Engineer parted ways with his last meal, he heard his teammates approaching through the undergrowth. Heavy was among them–the big man was yelling for Medic, no doubt worried to know what had become of the team’s doctor. Medic took a deep breath, then shouted weakly for the others. “Ve are over here!”

Out the corner of his eye, Engineer saw Heavy burst through the foliage, followed by Soldier, Demoman and Pyro. The Russian looked like he’d just wrestled a bear in a pit full of steak knives; every inch of exposed skin on his body was gouged and bleeding, and the rest of him had been liberally streaked in someone else’s blood. Gruesome injuries usually didn’t faze Engineer, but manually shoving chunks of viscera back into his teammate had exceeded his tolerance for gore, and he looked away with a faint groan.

“Doktor!” There was a hint of distress in Heavy’s voice that belied his concern. “Vhen I see him chopping, I vas sure he killed you... Is safe now, Doktor. Ve finished him!”

“Dammit, someone explain to me just WHAT the HELL is GOING ON HERE!” Soldier demanded. The others muttered uneasily to one another, but it sounded like they would have to wait to hear the story.

Medic was regaining his strength as the moments passed; Engineer could hear him moving, shifting the Medi-gun’s power supply over and pulling it onto his back. “I am glad for zat, my friend. You couldn’t heff stopped to help me while he vas attacking you, anyhow... ach, it is fortunate Herr Engineer found me vhen he did, or I vould heff bled out.”

“ARE YOU DEAF?! I asked for a STATUS REPORT, you-Engie?” Mention of the Texan interrupted Soldier’s train of thought, and it only took a moment for the rest of the team to locate him. “Good God, private! What’s wrong with you?”

Engineer hadn’t particularly wanted to be found hunched over a puddle of vomit, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. “...must still be kinda’ woozy from the trip here,” he lied, feeling his ears burn with shame. The elbow-length crust of blood drying on his forearms told a different tale, but as Soldier helped him to his feet, the older American didn’t ask for any details.

“Looks like we’ll have to wait for those two before we plan our next move, anyway,” Soldier sighed, and kept a steadying grasp on Engineer’s shoulder while he fished a gray handkerchief out of his pocket. He pressed it into the mechanic’s hand, sounding a little flustered as he added, “Here, uh... you can clean yourself off with this, Engie.”

Behind them, Engineer heard Medic fussing over Heavy, who was urging the doctor to finish healing himself before worrying about anything else. With Soldier distracted, Demoman had taken up the slack in pressing the wounded men for some explanation. (Heavy must’ve seen the mess the Doc was in, too...) Struggling not to think about the hands-on surgery he had just performed, Engineer wiped the mess off his face, grateful for Soldier’s support. “Thanks, Sarge,” he said, smiling weakly. “Let’s- let’s see if they can at least tell us where the chopper is.”

I believe the lady pilot is what the good folks over at TVTropes call "One-Scene Wonder." Out-shouting Soldier? I am impressed.

Thanks for the link to your tumblr.

Eh, I figured the bit with Medic getting vivisected was grisly enough to warrant a little light comedy in this installation.

Time for more pointless smut, yay!

Also, for those other weenies out there who care about historical stuff: I had only ever heard the term "Polish land-mine detector" used to describe an unwanted person sent off to blunder into traps, so I was a little embarrassed to look it up and discover that it really is a portable metal detector that was invented in Poland. Don't know if Demoman is referring to the joke definition, or the actual device.
_______________________________

Once Medic was back on his feet, the newcomers collected the supplies they had brought on the morning flight, and everyone plodded over to the camouflaged Huey so they could discuss the situation further. Soldier was the most forthcoming with questions about what had happened, but neither Heavy nor Medic had a lot of answers for him. The one person who could have clarified things a little was Scout, and he was nowhere to be found.

Engineer busied himself with the construction of a dispenser for the group, and listened to Soldier stubbornly badger their teammates for information that they couldn’t provide.

“How many vays can I repeat ze same story?!” Medic snapped. “Shortly before you arrived, ze boy indicated ve had two intruders in ze area, and left in pursuit of them before I could ask him vhat he had seen. Ve heard shouting and gunfire, and found him being strangled by another young man. Herr Heavy repelled ze attacker, who fled, and ze only thing Scout said before chasing after him vas that he had shot someone. I-”

Soldier interrupted him. “And that was the big fat guy back there? The RED mercenary WE JUST KILLED?!”

Everyone else fidgeted uncomfortably, looking unsure of what to do. The doctor glowered at Soldier. “Yes! I already told you, heff you even been listening? He vas already injured when he attacked me, but...” Medic trailed off for a moment, giving a troubled sigh. “But I am certain he had time to see ze color I am wearing. It is impossible that he vould heff mistaken us for ze enemy.”

“Do ye suppose he was just angry at bein’ shot?” Demoman asked.

“...reckon he wasn’t too pleased about it,” Engineer mumbled, grimacing. “That don’t explain what he was doin’ here in the first place, though. Now look. The only sure sign of BLU activity anyone’s even seen here was that fella on the radio who took Sniper and Spy here. He mentioned spottin’ a crashed BLU helicopter, not long before they were shot down themselves. Were there any survivors from that wreck? Maybe. But I don’t think they’d be dressin’ up in red just to screw with us. There’s somethin’ else going on here, somethin’ that wasn’t in our briefing.”

Soldier was incredulous. “A gap in our intel?! That’s impossible! BLU agents dressing in our team colors, THAT’S the only reasonable explanation for what just happened! Keep your eyes peeled for more of them, men. Pyro, break out the spy-checking device!”

As Pyro whipped out his flame-thrower in eager anticipation, the others traded dubious glances. Engineer leaned against the new dispenser and cleared his throat, hoping he could push the team forwards sooner than let everyone get bogged down in pointless speculation. “Either way, we’re not gonna get any answers by standin’ around out here. The enemy’s hidin’ on this island, and I’m willing to bet their base of operations is someplace with a roof overhead. That’d put ‘em in the main complex. They can’t be guarding the whole thing, though–so as long as we can secure one defensible building, we’ve got somewhere to start out.”

“Ve heff no idea which routes are booby-trapped, Herr Engineer. Three of our men are already missing; ve cannot afford to lose any more to land-mines, or sentries, or... whatever might be out zere.” Medic seemed loathe to consider the risk of traps, even though it was a valid point. Nonetheless, Soldier bristled at what he took to be a display of cowardice.

“If you’re so scared of catching your frilly pink panties in a bear trap, then you can stay here, Fritz! REAL MEN HAVE NO FEAR OF DEATH AND DISMEMBERMENT! I say we take the shortest path to the plantation, and mount a direct assault! Who’s with me?!”

Demoman clapped a hand on Soldier’s back, and smiled crookedly. “You’re the closest we’ve got tae a Polish land-mine detector, mate. I’ll follow ye there, how’s that sound?”

Medic tried not to snicker, and failed. Before Soldier could slug one of his teammates or start yelling again, Engineer cut in. “Actually, I’ve got somethin’ that just might work...”

________________________________________


Tinnitus wasn’t a new experience for Sniper, after the time he’d spent working with Soldier and Demoman. Nor was having skinned knees, sore wrists, and a powerful desire to gut BLU Spy like a hare. As he dropped the body of his dead teammate and rose to his feet, he could see the masked man watching him warily, still holding the murderous object that had just claimed the RED spy’s life.

“Dat’s it, tête carré. We’ve gotta leave him and get moving.” Spy slipped the handgun under his suit jacket and turned for the exit, exhaling cigarette smoke and a sigh.

Sniper wasn’t letting go of the French rogue yet. (I can’t believe I’m doing this,) he thought, feeling his body move as though it were miles away, or in the grips of severe inebriation. (I never liked you, you self-absorbed twat .Your work ethic was horrible, and it always seemed like you only spoke when you wanted to make someone else look stupid. And that thing you made me do, that was low, even for you. I never really felt like you’d made it up to me. ...but all of that’s over now, isn’t it? You’re bloody-well dead. God help me, you even went out like a real man. I never liked you, but... this one’s for you, mate.)

Spy probably took the marksman’s plodding gait as a sign of emotional upset over the shooting. Maybe it even was. But when Sniper came up from behind him and took a roundhouse swing at his head, he was caught by surprise. The fist connected with his ear like a rocket, throwing him off-balance; as he staggered from the force of the blow, Sniper shoved him to the ground and sat on him, pinning his elbows under those dirty cowboy boots.

Grabbing the back of Spy’s head, Sniper pushed him face-down into the swampy mess of rotten leaves on the floor. “Right, we’re gonna be doin’ things a bit differently from here on in. You don’t need your weapons to sap the enemy’s dangerous toys, so I think I’m gonna take ‘em off your hands. Done enough bleedin’damage already.” Sniper released Spy’s head, freeing his hands so he could feel around under the Canadian’s jacket.

Spy spat out a mouthful of muddy water, then snarled, “Are you fucking crazy? Look, even if I hated dat guy, I didn’t kill him out of spite. He was fucking crippled! Calice de la putain-mère de tabernac!” He writhed under Sniper and tried to kick him, but to little effect. “Our advantage over a single opponent will be not’ing if I don’t even have a goddamn sharp stick!”

Sniper was busy emptying Spy’s pockets of lighters, cigarette packets, closed balisongs, and anything else that seemed like it might be some kind of secret spy weapon. He rapped his knuckles on the dome of that blue balaclava. “Sounds like a risk we’ll hafta take, mate. Gonna turn ya over. Don’t think of tryin’ anything smart with me.”

“I understand you’re feeling pissed ‘cause I killed your dance partner, but could you at least try to be sensible about dis? We have to cooperate right now, or we’re bot’ fucking dead!” Spy continued spouting objections as Sniper wrestled him onto his back, but the marksman ignored them. He was still unsure what their next step should be, but he knew didn’t want Spy stabbing him in the back. It was a relief when the secret agent’s struggle ebbed away to weak fidgeting.

“This handgun’s a real beaut’. I’ll be keepin’ it safe for you, just so there’s no hard feelings between us.” Sniper had turned away to retrieve his pack when he noticed two surprising things.

The first made his heart twitch painfully, but was surprisingly a relief to him. While Sniper had been busy rolling the BLU Spy, his murdered teammate had vanished from the filthy little alcove they were in. It seemed there was a chance that they could be respawned, after all. He was so amazed that the second surprise caught him completely off guard. Something sharp jabbed into his thigh. Twisting back around, Sniper growled angrily and made a grab for the thing responsible: Spy had managed to stick him with a syringe, which was now emptied of its contents. (You cheating spook…)

The stench of garlic pervaded Sniper’s senses, and his whole body sagged forwards, suddenly boneless as a sack of potatoes. Everything around him was slow-moving and hazy. Even reaching for Spy’s throat seemed like an insurmountable task. As he lowered his hand, his arm felt as though it were dragging through water.

Spy was deadpan. “...dat should make you easier to work wit'. Get off me, you stupid asshole.”

“Right,” Sniper mumbled, feeling oddly compliant. He dragged himself up from the other man’s chest, and leaned against the wall, still holding Spy’s handgun. It occurred to him that something was very wrong, but keeping his mind on one thing was proving difficult. He felt too serenely intoxicated to worry about the situation. “So where’re we going now?” he asked, suddenly at ease with the BLU agent’s company.

“Now? You’re gonna wait here ‘til you smarten da fuck up. Give me back your weapons. You’re probably too stoned to use dem anyways.”

“Sure, you can have 'em...” The Australian reached down for his pack, then decided standing was too hard in his current state, and slouched down onto the dirty floor. He lazily pushed the bag of supplies towards Spy, then let his head loll forward against his collar. “Ahhh... Say, are you sorry for killin’ the other spy? I- I just thought I ought to tell you, I never really liked that frog. He’s a right bastard.”

The only response from Spy was an absentminded grumble, and Sniper looked up again to see what he was doing, vaguely annoyed at the sense of being ignored. It looked like the Québécois had gathered up his belongings, and was preparing an electro-sapper for use.

Sniper wobbled backwards, landing on his ass in the muck. He asked, “Are you gonna fuck off ‘n leave me, mate?”

“Dere’s a couple of sentries on da main road. I’m gonna go shut dem down. Don’t do anyt’ing stupid while I’m away.” Spy frowned at his watch–or was it his cloaking device? Sniper wasn’t certain. “If you come to your senses before I’m back, just lay low and keep an eye out for trouble.”

Something possessed Sniper to move, so he crawled over to Spy and grabbed onto the man’s leg for support, oblivious to the grimy mess he was leaving on their clothes. The thought of being left alone disturbed him, and he tried to make conversation in the hope that it might compel Spy to stick around. “Did I ever tell you ‘bout the time I got captured by the KKO? They thought I was a-a British agent, can you believe that? That bleedin’ jungle had so many salties in it...”

Spy sighed and pushed him away. “On second t’ought, what I actually want is for you to lie down and take a nap. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t move. Dat would be best for bot’ of us.”

“Oh... right, I’ll do that.” Still thinking foggily about the crocodile-infested rainforests of Borneo, Sniper flopped over onto the dead leaves that littered the old BLU base’s exit. He watched Spy vanish into thin air, and wondered if the rogue would survive long enough to be back. The possibility he was on his own bubbled up in Sniper’s mind, but only concerned him because it meant he’d have nobody to talk with.

“Bah, spies make for lousy company. I wish Engie was here. Rather be with him, anyhow.” Thoughts of Engineer made him grin, and he rolled onto his back like a cat basking in the sun, suddenly filled with a very pleasant warmth. He reached a hand down to the crotch of his jeans, almost out of reflex, and started pawing himself through the fabric. Sex was something he could keep his mind focused on.

Sniper had never been a man with big plans for the future, which might have explained why he was working for RED in the first place. Tracking down notorious man-eaters in the bush had been mercenary work in and of itself, so what had sounded at first to be a life with more stability–that is to say, a steady employer–had turned out more violently unpredictable than killing animals for a living. Settling down wasn’t a goal he had in mind, though. To him, it sounded more like something a man did when he was too worn-out and broken down to fight anymore. With his fourth decade on Earth drawing ever closer, Sniper still found himself planning his life no more than a few weeks ahead. He still didn’t know what kind of future there could be for him and Engineer. He tried not to think about it.

It was easy to forget about those worries when he was with the Texan–or fantasizing vividly about him, as the case may be. In the time Sniper had spent working and living with Engineer, he had found the little guy to be many-faceted and complex below his straight-shooting exterior. The extremes of Engineer’s personality were almost always tempered by patience, though, and even before they had become close, Sniper felt warmer in his company.

He felt warmer now, just thinking about the feeling of Engineer's teeth on his throat. A longing sound escaped him as he dragged his thumbnail against the outline of his hardening dick, then bent one knee so it could snake its way up into his pant leg. It wasn’t exactly the first time he had ever rubbed one off through his trousers. “Tha’s it,” Sniper murmured. He felt as though the ground was rocking beneath him like a boat, sending waves of euphoria through his body.

Even when he was in his right mind, Sniper hadn’t been able to settle on a word for his relationship with the other man. He’d had ‘friends’ before, and ‘fuck-buddies’, but this was something more. The term ‘lovers’ held connotations of harlequin novel hysterics that bothered Sniper, although in truth, he had little personal experience with sexual liaisons that went on longer than a single night. Most of his social interactions could be described as indifferent or selfish; Engineer was the exception for him, rather than the rule. Something about the soft-spoken polymath made Sniper want to try and open up, to be a nice guy for a change.

The blood seemed to have drained from Sniper’s head. Engineer was shy, but not timid, and reminiscing about the things they’d done gave Sniper all the inspiration he could ever need. He applied some more friction to his hard-on and groaned, imagining the the weight of Engineer’s embrace, the man’s scent, the physical presence that filled his belly with a wonderful sort of heat and made his heart pound. Sniper could almost see the other man through half-open eyes; Engineer was like a mirage in his arms, almost tangible, but maddeningly absent each time he looked too close. In his delirious state, every sensation was overwhelmingly enjoyable, but nothing more than the pulse throbbing in his erection; he felt like his dick was as big as a skyscraper. He thought so too, for a moment, and chuckled moronically.

His excitement reached its peak, and everything around him seemed to explode. Sniper bucked his hips furiously as he came, seeing lights flash behind his eyelids, feeling each muscle in his body twitch as though electrified. For one mind-shattering moment, everything in Sniper's chaotic, often baffling world collapsed together and crystallized as a single perfect unit, an intricately-carved diamond that held all the answers to all the questions that plagued him. Then he passed out in the mud, and began to snore quietly.

Sniper has quite the talent for being able to sleep or wank in the most unorthodox situations.

Aaaaand, back to Scout's P.O.V.
______________________________

Scout’s journey to the plantation was much shorter than it seemed. Slogging through cold, mucky water and harassed by insects, he felt like he was on the worst nature hike ever. He heard sounds from time to time, rendered eerie and indistinct by the foliage around him, but Andy continued to elude him. (He got his hand blown off. Half his fucking arm! How the hell is that guy still alive?! He should have bled out miles back there...) It occurred to Scout that he may have only been on this miserable trek for ten or fifteen minutes, but it felt like hours. (Maybe he made a fucking... whatever it’s called. That thing where you tie off a bleeding stump or a snakebite or some shit.)

He spotted holes in the dirt, along the upper edge of the channel’s concrete wall, and noticed with some confusion that there were crabs darting into them at his passing. As he squirmed between some thick branches that depended down into the trough from a tree overhead, a word surfaced in Scout’s mind. (Mangrove.) He sighed, and tried to turn his attention back to the mission at hand. When the ditch suddenly became engulfed in a large culvert, Scout’s sense of unease grew, but he also realized he must be getting close.

(Close to what? Andy? Unless I trip over him in the next minute, I’ve lost the fucker. Hopefully this comes out at the compound. There’s buildings there. Maybe there’s some supplies, or first aid kits, or... fuck, even food. I’m starving.) He could see greenery at the end of the tunnel, and daylight. This encouraged him to speed up, and on exiting, Scout found he was at the bottom of another filthy concrete pit. He didn’t lose hope, though; a swamped ledge formed the landing for a sturdy-looking door, and beside it was a ladder up.

Scout pushed the door, and cursed when he discovered it wasn’t budging. (Did he make it this far? Maybe the people he’s working with are on the other side...) Noticing a bloodstained keypad set into the wall, Scout realized that this was the means to unlocking the door. Unfortunately, the entire panel was smudged with blood, so he had no way to determine what the pass-code was. Groaning in defeat, Scout turned to the ladder and set about the arduous task of dragging himself up out of the pit.

Open sky was visible through the trees, and Scout trudged towards that light, pushing through the undergrowth until he found he was in a courtyard, with buildings all around. A jarring crash spooked him, but it wasn’t from anything nearby. Still feeling wary, he sidled along a blue-painted wall, then ducked into the first alcove that presented itself.

There was something in there, with him. Something human shaped.

Scout let out a startled scream and stumbled back, falling onto his butt.

The thing moved. First a slight shift of its weight, then a shudder, and then it suddenly sat up and half-turned to face Scout, smiling benignly. “Oh... g’day, mate. What’re you doin’ in here? I- I been waitin’ for him ter come back, I thought you WERE him, but then I heard you yellin’ and...”

Scout’s new companion gave a muffled giggle and let his head loll back, Adam’s apple jutting towards the ceiling. It was Sniper, who looked like he’d been rolling around in the muck; even his glasses were dirty. This was a matter of some consternation to Scout, but it didn’t concern him nearly as much as the man’s behavior did.

Scout stared. “You fuckin’ stoned, man? What the fuck?”

A crooked, fanged grin was plastered to Sniper’s long face, as well as a goodly quantity of dirty water. “Might be, he sorta’ intec... interjec... he shot me wif something. Musta’ been some of the reeeeeal good shit, mate, I- I can barely think about what’s happening. Did you get bit by one of th’salties? You’re bleedin’...”

“What the fuck is going on? This- this is the wrong fuckin’ time to be riding the blue bus, you fuckin’ hippy asshole! Snap out of it!” Scout scuttled over to his teammate and grabbed the Australian’s muddy shoulder, then backhanded him so hard his aviators flew off. Sniper reeled a little, still smiling serenely, then reached down and grabbed Scout’s wounded arm.

“C’mon, mate... lemme- lemme clean that off for yer...” Before Scout could find the right obscenities for the situation, Sniper was yanking off the filthy bandages that had covered the deep gash. The boy squirmed in pain.

“Fuck- motherfucker- fuckin’ crazy asshole-”

“Gimme my rucksack, mate, gotta’ still ‘ave something in the first aid kit...” Once it was in arm’s reach, Sniper grabbed his pack and pulled out the first aid kit, then pried it open. There was still some gauze inside, but it was a deep, unsanitary ochre colour that made Scout feel dubious for his safety. Undeterred by the material’s discoloration, Sniper set the kit aside, then took a near-empty bottle of gin.

Scout forgot his words of objection to being intoxicated during a mission, and cheered up immediately. “Aw sweet, I could really fuckin’ use a drink right now. Gimme that, chucklehead.”

Instead of complying, Sniper gave a sad sigh. “This is it, mate. I’ll miss you.” He opened the bottle, then splashed Scout’s wound with liquor. It took every iota of Scout’s self-control to keep himself from screaming, and as the blinding pain faded into a more garden-variety agony, he glowered at the Australian.

“You coulda fuckin’ warned me first, man! Aw, geeze... this is- this really sucks. Fuck. Wasting the last of the booze like tha- get that dirty fuckin’ rag away from there! Don’t touch it!”

“It’s jus’ iodine, mate, won’t make your arm fall off.” Sniper somehow managed to bind the wound despite his clumsy, drugged state, and tied the gauze tight around the boy’s wrist. “There y’go, Cock Robin. All fixed up.” Still smiling blearily, he leaned towards Scout and captured him in a muddy bear-hug, patting his blonde brush-cut with a filthy hand.

Scout shivered, and wrenched himself free from the older man’s grasp, feeling his ears turn scarlet. “Woah, f-fuck!” he sputtered. “Gimme a little space over here, will ya?! I ain’t fucked in the head l-like you are, man!” As he tried to compose himself, Scout noticed that Sniper was staring off behind him; the marksman looked as though he’d just seen an old friend passing by. “Hey, are you even payin’ attention to me?”

“Hi there,” Sniper said, dreamily.

Then someone grabbed Scout from behind and clamped a hand over his mouth. He went rigid with alarm and began thrashing, while his teammate watched on in an imbecilic state of calm. Scout’s captor began hissing in his ear, and after a few moments he started listening to what the man was saying.

“Just settle da fuck down. If I wanted you dead, I woulda stabbed you in da back. Got it?”

This didn’t do much to ease Scout’s worries, although he stopped struggling, and tried to turn his head to see who was there. A glimpse of blue fabric was visible out the corner of his eye. He gave a muffled yell and redoubled his efforts to break free, making a mental note to kick Sniper’s ass for not helping in the least.

“Maudite, didn’t I tell you to be still?! If you want to last five minutes out dere, shut up and listen to me. Maybe you haven’t noticed yet, but dis situation is more complicated dan what your bosses back at da RED company told you.”

Mention of the RED company gave Scout pause, and he finally followed the mystery man’s instructions. On being released, he scooted over near Sniper, and turned to face what he already knew to be a BLU spy. Scout was nevertheless feeling pretty irate, but he kept his voice low as he addressed their unlikely partner. “Are you the one who turned Mister ‘Lone Wolf’ here into a babbling moron?”

Spy huffed, venting cigarette smoke. “You t’ink I wanted to waste a shot of truth serum on him? He was gonna get us bot’ killed, it was all I could do to make him cool off for a while. ...it’s been about half an hour, he should come around soon. Now, tell me what you know about dis place.”

“Look, none of this shit makes any sense to me now. I don’t know what the fuck is going on.” Scout gave a long, exasperated sigh, then rolled his eyes. “It’s a fuckin’ banana farm, they want us to keep you guys from controlling it. What’s it to you?”

The Québécois was either feeling patient, or just had a good poker face – he was perfectly deadpan. “Not what your intel said, stupid; I already got da impression it was pretty fucking incomplete. Tell me what you’ve found out since coming here. Den, maybe I can fill you in on what I know.”


Grudgingly, Scout recounted his experiences since landing on the island. He didn’t like communicating with the enemy unless it was in shouted, four-letter words, but the things he had gone through so far today were making him anxious about their mission. As he spoke, Spy smoked and offered no interruptions, which was alright with Scout. He really liked talking.

“...so either he died and sank into the muck, or he got through that door and escaped. Fuckin’ pussy. The keypad for the lock was covered in blood and shit, so I had ta give up on it and move on. Then I found Captain Kangaroo here, and... yeah, you know the rest.”

Spy nodded, apparently deep in thought. As he mulled over Scout’s story, the BLU agent picked a new cigarette from his case, and lit it off the old one. After a few moments, Scout got sick of waiting for him to speak, and started looking for ways to occupy the silence. He glanced at Sniper, who was looking a little off.

“Hey, so where’s our Spy, man? I haven’t seen him since I got here. He get himself killed or what?”

Sniper grimaced and rubbed his eyes, then started picking through the compost for something. “Y’could say that. He’s dead, gone. Got blown up right here, actually. ...and saved me sorry hide in the process.” The dizzy cheerfulness he exhibited when Scout first found him was fading, and Sniper was starting to look and sound more like his usual self.

(Man, he got into a bad fuckin’ mood all of a sudden, didn’t he? I usually see him like this when he has a hangover.) Scout rose to his feet and leaned against a wall, looking around impatiently for a sign that they would soon be on the move. “Good thing I showed up, huh? Otherwise it’d just be you and this piece of shit. What were you guys plannin’ on doing here?”

Spy shot a rude gesture at the boy, but said nothing; he was still busy thinking. Sniper picked his aviators out of the dirt, then half-heartedly wiped them on his shirtfront. “Urgh, ‘m tryin’ to remember. ...there’s a Soldier we’ve gotta’ kill. And an Engineer. This frog says ‘is team fought them on the island, two years ago. Now they’ve got themselves holed-up in the old estate, though it’s–” The sharpshooter stopped speaking and slouched forwards, scrabbling at the floor for support. He was looking a little green about the gills.

Scout was nonplussed. “Aw man, tell me you’re not gonna’ barf.”

“...I might,” Sniper croaked, then managed to pull himself together, breathing deeply as the moment passed. “Anyhow, it sounds like your little friend might’ve given us a clue as to why they’re hell-bent on keepin’ people off the island.”

“Yeah... some sorta treasure or somethin’.” As the conversation turned to the things Scout had overheard, he felt a little excited. (Treasure? Fuck, if we can kill those bums, it’ll be ours! Then I’d just have to get out of this contract, and I could go back home and do whatever the fuck I want for the rest of my life!) The sound of Sniper’s voice brought him back down to earth.

“Whatever’s in there, I reckon our employers want their hands on it...bah, would’ve been nice of them to let us in on the plot beforehand, don’t you think?” The Australian fished a crumpled packet of cigarettes from under his vest, then shook out one that seemed mostly intact and started hunting for some dry matches. At length, Spy took pity on him and offered a light. Then, the Canadian finally spoke.

“I have a good idea of which routes around da compound aren’t mined, but... dis door da kid mentioned could be a safer way to infiltrate their base. Provided I can break in, of course. I’d been counting on da two men I saw being da only ones here; wit’ more of dem to deal wit’, we’ll have to adjust our plans. Now...” He paused for a moment and frowned, counting off on his fingertips. “...from what you’ve said, it sounds like they’re a few men short: da Spy, da Heavy – unless your pals weren’t able to finish him off...”

“Their Demoman,” Sniper interjected, his voice sounding weirdly choked.

“Oh yeah, da dead guy you found. He was probably part of their team, too. Anyhow, dat leaves dem wit’ six men. If da Engineer is busy trying to break t’rough some door, and da Soldier is out on patrol, we’re most likely to run into da other four guys.” Spy shrugged mildly. “Assuming dey aren’t all together, it should be simple to ambush dem and dispose of da bodies.”

“So what’re we waiting for? C’mon, let’s go see if you can get that door open, Frenchie.” Scout was eager to do anything but stand around, waiting for something to happen. He hauled Sniper to his feet, then started from the entryway where they had been hiding out. The other two men hurried after him, spitting curses and warnings about the danger they were in. “Keep yer pants on, I didn’t run into nothin’ the first time I headed this way.”

“Yeah, and you weigh half what I do, mate. You’d hafta’ really work to set off a landmine,” Sniper drawled, and tried to claw some of the dirt off of himself. Scout wondered if the Australian’s filthy condition was intentional – an act of camouflage – or if he’d just gotten carried away while he was drugged.

Despite the others’ concerns, there were no traps in the undergrowth, and they soon found themselves at the locked door. Spy was quick to shoo the two REDs away so he could examine the keypad. After a few moments, he let out a weird little laugh. “And here I t’ought I’d have to break dis t’ing open. Look – dere’s blood smeared on all da keys, but it really stands out on a few of dem. See da fingerprints? I guess dey don’t do a lot of hand-washing around here, everyone who’s used dis t’ing must’ve left a layer of grime behind.”

Scout squinted over Spy’s shoulder to take a second look, but the older man was already mucking about with the panel, testing different combinations of the dirt-smudged keys. Just as he was starting to wonder if Spy had been bullshitting them, there was a faint ‘click’: the door unlocking.

Spy cloaked himself with a faint, electrical crackle.

“Woah- woah- don’t you dare bail on us, you rotten, stinking-” Sniper drew his knife and got ready for a little of the old chop-chop, but a hoarse sigh reassured them the masked man was still there. He could be seen at this distance, if you looked closely, but anyone more than a few feet away would spot the others long before him.

“Did you forget da part where we’re outnumbered, tête carré? I’m not gonna ditch you yet. Dis is just insurance. Now let’s get in dere, before someone finds you chumps.” The door opened seemingly of its own accord, and Scout could see wet footprints appear on the floor just inside. “If it makes you feel any safer, I’ll lead da way.”

“Don’t like being your bloody decoy,” Sniper growled, lowering his weapon. His eyes met Scout’s for a moment, and they traded dismal looks, then followed the invisible man.

Meh. If anyone's still reading this, here's more.
____________________________

Traveling over the vastness of Earth, a man was reduced to one vertical, unwavering band of light. The crude organic machinery that usually conveyed him, imprisoned by its weight and awkward shape and innumerable crude organic urges, had been stripped away. In a moment he had become boiled down to raw potential energy, then delicately encrypted and propelled heavenwards, a carrier wave for his most essential qualities. Freed from the bonds of flesh and, for the most part, gravity, he could sense nothing in this pure state; as he breached the upper atmosphere and kissed the dome of the sky, he did so with the barest capacity to understand.

At this moment, he was only capable of forming a single thought – barely a thought, even – the simple, eukaryotic awareness of his existence. He thought: “I AM”.

Skirting the borders of infinity, he was suddenly and rudely ensnared by the arcane forces of electrical engineering. Without the ability to contest this detour, or even to really know it was happening, the man’s course changed. Instead of the great beyond, he was hurled back down towards Earth. If he had eyes, he would have watched a barren red landscape expand before him. Blissfully ignorant of everything that had passed, and everything that was to come, the man simply thought:

“I AM”.

Then the man touched down, and in an instant too fast for any human to perceive, he knew more: he knew light. Another infinitesimal period of time passed, then warmth joined a growing list of things the man could acknowledge. He was free no more, once again in the confines of a meat automaton, as had happened so many times before. When the process was complete and he opened his eyes on a white-tiled room, everything he had known up until this point suddenly seemed much more jarring.

RED Spy was alive.

He staggered over to a bench beside the lockers and sat down heavily, feeling overwhelmed by his return to a living, breathing body. Respawn still hit people hard sometimes, but the hangover usually didn’t last long enough to keep a guy out of battle. Right now, however, Spy had more than nausea bothering him. He was relieved to be alive, but confounded by what he had experienced in those agonizing moments before his death – one that he was certain would be for good.

Without opening his eyes, Spy took out his cigarette case, then picked out a smoke for himself and lit it. (This should help me recover my wits. Now to plan my next move... yes, planning. Looking ahead. Focus.) He grimaced, fighting dry-heaves and the terrible emotions that were determined to linger in his mind. (The sense of loss, I can deal with. I have felt that before. But such regret... dammit, I don’t have time to waste sulking, there is so much I have to do! I need some real answers from that awful harridan, and I need to get back there as quickly as possible!)

Spy sagged against the wall, feeling his resolve waver under the weight of everything that had happened. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking of Sniper, the way the Australian had haplessly clutched at him and his usefulness to the unlikely trio. (He must have known deep down that I was beyond saving. Shit, even if my wounds hadn’t been fatal, I still would have just impeded their progress. Why did he do that? Maybe he was just feeling guilty for blundering onto a trap, then surviving at the cost of my life. ...or perhaps he was just panicking. It happened so suddenly... and both of us thought it would be the last conversation we would ever have. Bah, I feel foolish now. I have to stop thinking about this and get to work.)

Spy rubbed his eyes and groaned wearily, then started pulling himself together. He would have to come to terms with his human side later. For now, he couldn’t afford to feel traumatized. Not when his professional dignity was on the line – not to mention, his team’s chances of making headway on the island. Satisfied that he had control over himself once more, Spy left the respawn chamber and headed for mission control.



The RED base at Teufort was so familiar to Spy, he could have navigated it in pitch darkness. A cohort of mercenaries was always stationed there, but no battle was being fought at the moment, which was fine as far as Spy was concerned. The only person he passed in the halls was an Engineer, too hard at work to notice him. That was also fine. He slipped into the control room, then parked himself at a console and picked up the phone. The number he dialled was one that was known to nobody else on Spy’s team, but his unique duties afforded him some special privileges. And right now he had no patience for dealing with middlemen, not even the charming and polite Miss Pauling.

The person on the other end of the line picked up, after a rather long delay. Spy’s acting skills were most useful to him when his life was at risk, and for all he knew, this could be one of those times. Sounding much more reasonable than he was feeling, he spoke. “Good afternoon, Mademoiselle Administrator. Or, may I call you Helen? I believe we need to ‘ave a talk about ze mission in ze Caribbean...”

Even over the telephone, her tone could make the temperature of a room drop. “You know that I am an extremely busy woman, so I want to make something very clear to you. If you were bothering me to ask about any other thing in the world, I would have you gassed. There’s a button right here that would let me do it, too.”

“Yes, yes. I know ze telephones and bathroom stalls in all of our bases ‘ave zis... personnel-related failsafe mechanism, you could call it. Zat is not what I wish to discuss with you, though.”

“Indeed. I suppose you’re wondering who we really sent you there to fight, aren’t you? I normally loathe to volunteer information to my subordinates, but there is rather a lot at stake here, so I’ll save both of us time and cut to the chase.”

Spy lit a fresh cigarette off his old one, and smiled grimly. “Yes, tell me about ze other RED mercenaries on ze island. Zey are men who were stationed zere before, oui?”

“I don’t know the extent to which you’ve observed them, but as of a month ago, they ceased being RED employees. These men abandoned their contracts with us and stole a good deal of company property, to boot. I suspected they had plans of squatting on one of the sites co-owned by the Mann brothers, which was confirmed when one of them contacted us last week.”

“And you didn’t feel it was necessary to share zis information with my team?”

The Administrator scoffed quietly, her voice as crisp over the phone as it was in person. “If a man is trying to kill you, does it really matter what color he’s wearing? I have every confidence that you and your teammates know when to fight for your lives. Furthermore, there was nothing of any tactical value that we could have told you. The man who radioed us from the island is looking to cut a deal. We received a few messages from him, none of which included details about the compound’s defenses. He was more interested in securing re-admission into the respawn system, and haggling for a finder’s reward.”

Spy was struck by a realization that would have been more useful a few hours ago. (The Demoman we found... My God, why didn’t I figure that out sooner? There’s no reason they would extend respawn privileges to mercenaries who have gone rogue. That’s the first consequence of betraying our employers. You can’t execute someone who will just come back to life.) He frowned, feeling tempted to delve into this mystery, but knowing the Administrator was unlikely to answer any questions she deemed irrelevant.

“So tell me, Mademoiselle, what IS our mission?”

“Don’t be foolish, it’s the same as before. You are to infiltrate the plantation and kill off any opposing forces you meet, then secure the main compound. Further instructions will be supplied once you achieve this objective.”

Frustration tightened around Spy’s cranium like a bad headache. He resisted the urge to snap at her, and cleared his throat before speaking again. “Is zere nothing you can tell me zat would ‘elp zis job go more... smoothly, than it ‘as so far?”

“Given your unique responsibilities, I suppose I can give you another tidbit of information... While the land is what those decrepit old men are hoping to wrest from each other’s grasp, something contained within it is of interest to the Mann Company. Call it an old, forgotten investment, if you will. Something that wasn’t mentioned in the deed.

“Now... my position forbids me from disclosing details about the BLU’s agenda, but... I’m sure you already know they’ve got the same goal as your own employers. I really could care less which team eliminates those traitors, as long as someone manages to do it. The successful party will be rewarded handsomely by Mister Hale’s company if they can recover our lost property from the island. To the victor goes the spoils, hmm?”

Spy's mind buzzed with questions, ones for which he knew he'd never get a straight answer. Not from his benevolent overlord, anyhow. Feeling doubly determined to get to the bottom of all this, he tapped off his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, and restrained himself from giving a weary sigh. "Very well. I suppose zere is a backup plan for ze event of deaths in our team, yes? Our briefing was unclear on ze subject, but... as I am rather far from ze others right now, my use in supporting zem is limited."

"We had originally anticipated you and yours either dying in greater numbers, or not at all. As you're the only one who's been killed so far, you may have to wait in Teufort a while. ...after crawling around in the jungle, I'm sure you'll appreciate the chance to freshen up a little."

He grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a false start, Spy composed himself enough to speak. "Madame, just... 'ow important to you IS zis lost property?"

Spy could hear a hint of agitation in her voice. "While I appreciate your dedication, it is simply not logistically feasible for the RED company to be shipping individual mercenaries around the Caribbean. You'll simply need to exercise some patience; once some of your colleagues have joined you in Teufort, a flight can be arranged."

"A single person can shift ze balance of power and change ze outcome of a battle, Mademoiselle." Privately, Spy was feeling anxious to get back to his team. For all of his apparent delinquency, the man was still concerned with his performance in the field, and the last thing he wanted was to be the strategic hole that brings down the ship. "I can make my own way to our mission control in zat region, if need be. Do we still 'ave any helicopters zere, or were zey all shot down?"

There was a pause as the Administrator checked her last status report. "According to the most recent information I've received, one of your team's helicopters has been brought to the island. ...they weren't clear why, something about a sick pilot... The other aircraft delivered the rest of your teammates there safely, and is returning to mission control." She sighed irritably. "I suppose there's no reason you can't take a domestic flight down there, if you can find your way onto one."

Spy smirked. With his wages, even the cost of securing a last-minute seat on the next flight there would be chump change. "I will be zere before you know it. ...thank you ever so much for your time, Helen. It is always such a pleasure talking with you."

"Spare me your bullshit," she said crisply, and hung up.

I'm still reading, if that helps. I'm also really enjoying myself every time you post a new segment.

I've never seen respawn described that way - or the process of the transfer and resurrection, for that matter, and I'm a little glad of that, because you gave it such a fantastic portrayal here. It's a very vivid set of images and sensations you've got going there, and really rich to read.

And of course, as the plot thickens, I patiently wait for more.

you still have readers, trust me. this is one of the most well written fics on the site and i look forward to every update! they never disappoint.

You definitely still have readers! I'm very curious about the technology hidden on this island. Can't wait to read more. Your actions scenes really are the best!

Gah, now I'm worried that I sounded whiny there! I'm always just a little concerned when I think I've been updating something too often, or not often enough, etc. etc. (Not that I don't appreciate the reassurance! Knowing there are people waiting to see what happens next helps motivate me, hehe.)

Definitely still reading :)

I just wanted to wait until I had something substantial to say before commenting again. There is just so many times I can say "I liked this chapter and I'm looking forward to the next one!" without starting to sound like a parrot :P

I did have a nitpick about one of the previous chapters. BLU Spy took Sniper's weapons away after drugging him, but later when BLU Spy went invisible Sniper got ready to attack him with his kukri. I think it would read better if you added at least a throwaway line about BLU Spy reluctantly giving Sniper his weapons back. But since it's not really a plothole or anything (BLU Spy never took Scout's weapons away, and Sniper would be useless without his weapons, so it's easy to imagine that BLU Spy simply gave Sniper his weapons back "offscreen") I didn't mention it before.

Speaking of BLU Spy, he is quickly becoming my favourite character. He is really entertaining.

I'm very happy to see that RED Spy is alive and well. I'm very curious to see his future interactions with Sniper and Engineer. His sacrificing his life (for good, as far as he knew) for Sniper, plus the implication that he may actually be in love with Sniper rather than simply lusting after him, plus the fact that Sniper willingly cheated on Engineer (even if it was only a handjob) while Engineer appeared to wish he could cheat on Sniper with Soldier... All of that could make for some seriously fantastic drama! I'm really looking forward to their meeting.

[strike]Just go poly, guys! And invite BLU Spy while you are at it![]

'Nother hand up in the yes you still have readers section - not inventive enough to say much else other than a big "Yeah, me too!" to everything that's already been said.

Lovely lovely lovely story. Reading it with bated breath.

>>63 Gah! That was kind of an oversight, yeah. BLU Spy really just left Sniper's rucksack with him and snuck off to sap some sentries, but I never really clarified what happened there. Oops.

More smut and romance schlock are on the way, but I first have to get two battle scenes written out. Ouch. It'll just be incentive for me to work harder and play less Fallout. :)
_____________________________

‘Silence’ and ‘sneaking’ were things Scout was capable of, but not his preferred way of carrying himself. As he crept after his older companions, he found his mind wandering every which way. He was going out of his skin with distraction. Drops of dried blood on the floor caught his eye, now and then. He thought of Andy. (That son of a bitch should've been bleeding like a stuck pig... did he have a fuckin’ medkit or something? Maybe some kind of bleedin’-stoppin’ medicine? I don’t know if there’s anything like that out there...) Scout tried to focus on the environment around them instead, but it was hard. For all intents and purposes, they were in what could have passed for any RED base – just one that had become dirty and dilapidated from neglect. Mud was tracked all over the linoleum floor, and dirty handprints streaked the walls, here and there. Half the overhead lights were dark, the other half cracked or flickering; in the otherwise silent hall, the buzz from those light fixtures was deafening.

Scout glanced at Sniper as they walked. The Australian had a rather lupine expression of alertness on his face, a hunter on the prowl for some dangerous prey. However, the man was pausing now and then to catch his breath, or grimace in discomfort from some unspoken ill. (I wonder if he’s hungry. I know I’m fuckin’ starving, here. This bites.) On rifling through his messenger bag, Scout found he had another can of soda left, and quietly chugged it to keep himself going. Neither of his companions seemed like they wanted some, anyhow.

After what seemed like an eternity of wandering dingy tiled hallways, the RED base architecture gave way to an older, more Georgian style. Scout was hardly a lad with antiquarian interests, but even he could tell they were moving into the plantation’s grand manor. He found himself thinking of the Back Bay neighbourhood, all those fancy brownstones where rich-bitches lived so they wouldn’t have to deal with the rabble downtown. (This looks like something older, though... more like the houses in that town north of Salem, where great-aunt Celia lived. What was the name of the place...) Visions of gambrel roofs and sagging wooden porches trickled through Scout’s mind, but he couldn’t remember the name of that ancient town. He pushed it from his thoughts.

“...this must’ve been servant’s quarters at one time,” Sniper murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “How much of this place is still inhabitable, d’you reckon? We didn’t run across anyone down in the base, so they’ve gotta’ be somewhere around here...”

“I don’t know, we never fought in da mansion. Maybe you two should hide somewhere while I take a look around...”

Scout grimaced, feeling a jolt of suspicion. Sniper must have felt the same way, because he growled, “Not on your bloody life. We’re movin’ together. ...oi, I think I can hear people talking, down that way...”

The three men made their way down the corridor, each practically holding his breath as they navigated the rotten floorboards; all of them could hear the sound of conversation now, and they were understandably anxious about blowing their cover. Turning a corner, they found themselves on a mezzanine overlooking a large room: the manor’s kitchen. It was a run-down affair with stone floors, walls, and an oven that looked like a small cave. Its recent occupants seemed to have turned it into a sort of dormitory, replacing most of the ruined old furniture with sleeping bags and supply crates, while the oven was now in use as a fireplace. There were people seated before it on a bench that seemed ready to crumble into splinters. Their backs were to the mezzanine. Scout and his companions ducked below the handrail, then crept slowly along, using the thick balusters for cover.

“...you must be mad, mate. Ivan didn’t come back with the brat. He’s a dead man for sure.”

“Nein! I vill hear none of zis talk! Zat man is ze backbone of our workforce here, and he could still be alive out zere. Ve should launch a rescue mission immediately, or ve could face an irrecoverable loss of...”

“Come off it. We’ve already got everything we need for a siege right here. Besides, Tex says ‘e’ll be through that door any day now. One less bloke to share th’spoils with, far as I’m concerned. Speakin’ of which, how’s the kid holdin’ out?”

The conversing men were a Sniper and a Medic, both members of the team that had gone rogue. Sitting between them was a short person in a grubby jumpsuit, a welding hood strapped onto his head.

“You make a valid point... ah, I vas able to restore him to health. Ze arm vas a loss, though. Haha, I am certain ve can still find a use for him around here. Particularly if ve lose anyone else.”

“Bah, the Colonel’s gone back to ‘is old decree. Nobody leaves the mansion but ‘im. He says there’ll probably be another load of BLUs comin’ this way soon, and between them and the REDs who got Ivan, they should take care of each other for us. ...waitin’ here ain’t exciting, but it’s not so bad as dyin’ out in’t bleedin’ jungle, ennit? Maybe we’ll get ta pick off a few stragglers...”

“Vhat about my research?! Vhen I agreed to be a part of zis operation, I made it clear zere were certain things I vould require out here. I understand zat simply letting our enemies kill one another is ze easy vay to go about it, but I need-”

“Oh, come on, now. You’ll get ta do all the vivisectin’ your little heart can handle, Ruprecht. ‘ere, I even went through the trouble of fixin’ up some tranq darts for when the occasion presents itself. How’s that for gratitude?”

“Very well... You must understand, mein freischütz, every moment I spend away from my surgery, my skills weaken. Ach, when ze Colonel returns, I vill make it clear to him zat if he vants my services here, he must do vhat he can to see zat I remain in... top form.”

While they were talking, the smaller man rocked on his seat and rubbed his hands together, making no interruption to the conversation. Up on the mezzanine, Sniper edged over until he bumped into Spy, then whispered, “We oughta’ take ‘em out now, while their backs are turned. Pick ‘em off like rabbits.”

The invisible man sounded hesitant. “Dat would blow our cover. Not to say it’s da worst way we could let dem know we’re here, but... you really t’ink you can kill all t’ree of dem before someone finds cover and yells for help? I’d just as soon wait until we can catch some of dese guys alone, or somewhere dey won’t have a chance to shoot back.”

“Bloody coward,” Sniper hissed. For his part, Scout suddenly found himself wishing they had bombs at hand. A surprise attack from Sniper’s Model 82 would only be guaranteed to eliminate one person, but a well-aimed grenade could wipe out all three of the men. Without a doctor of their own at hand, starting a firefight here and now would be a dangerous gamble.

(I keep telling those schmucks to give me a sidearm that hits harder. Fuck, if only we had some support here... Even a dispenser would be nice.) His stomach growled, a noise that was almost deafening from where he was hiding, but after a terrified moment where Scout was certain he’d betrayed their position, he realized that the people across the room hadn’t heard a thing.

“We should move on,” Spy said, barely audible even to his companions. Sniper grudgingly agreed, and with no strong direction of his own, Scout just followed along. When they slipped into a store-room a few minutes later, Scout was overjoyed at the sight of something he never thought would excite him: a cache of RED company rations.

It was hard for him to speak softly. “Holy shit, you guys, we-we’ve gotta’ fuckin’ eat some of this stuff. C’mon, c’mon, let’s see what they’ve got.”

Even Sniper looked a little happier at their discovery, and moved in for a closer examination of the enemy’s food stores. “We oughta’ snag a few cans, then find somewhere out of the way where we can eat. If these blokes are stuck inside all day, I reckon the only rooms they’re liable to visit are this one and the loo. Anywhere else we can get to quietly will probably do. Maybe the one of the servant’s rooms we passed by.”

“I don’t like da t’ought of sneaking past dat kitchen a second time, especially not wit’ a bunch of cans in our arms. Let’s just find somewhere far away from dis part of da mansion.” Spy’s cloaking device powered down as he gathered up some rations, which prompted him to curse quietly. He was clearly more comfortable when he couldn’t be seen, but taking on extra baggage must have exceeded the device’s capacity for concealment.

Scout might have laughed at the BLU agent, but he was too busy reading the tops of the cans, determined to get the best things he could find. “Ugh, all of these are ham and motherfuckers. Did those assholes just pick through ‘em and take the good stuff? Maybe there’s something better hiding underneath...”

He started to stack the unwanted cans off to one side, and Spy cuffed him across the back of the head. “We don’t have all goddamn day for dis, just grab somet’ing so we can get da fuck out of here.”

“Fuck you, man. I know you guys eat snails and shit, but I need real f-aw yeah, I found some cookies over here!” Scout was feeling ready to throw down with the masked man, but the discovery of some sweets defused his temper. He crammed a number of the cans into his bag, then hastily replaced the others to where they had been before.

“Hostie de tabernac de yankee,” Spy grunted, pocketing a bunch of accessory packets. Cut off from civilization, he was no doubt hoping to replenish his supply of cigarettes. Still fidgety about being plainly visible in hostile territory, he turned for the door. “We’re leaving. Right now. Before someone finds us...”

Sniper grumbled, but didn’t argue against the logic of vacating an area where the enemy was likely to show up, sooner or later. He stuffed a few of the foil packs into his rucksack, then followed Spy, with Scout taking up the back of the group. Both of the REDs were fairly confident that, with his own ass on the line, Spy would be very careful about plotting their course.

___________________________________


After much deliberation, the other six members of the RED team that remained on the island had settled on a course of action. They were to move as a group, despite Medic’s protests that it defeated the purpose of the staging area that had been established. In the end, though, he conceded that the Huey and the clearing was more-or-less indefensible; with no secure means of moving the chopper, they would just have to abandon it for the time being. Beleaguered by a mid-morning downpour that turned the air into a steamy soup, they gathered everything they could feasibly carry along, and set out.

The path on which Scout had disappeared into the jungle was not marked on anyone’s map, but it had brought the two hostile mercenaries to the clearing, and thus it was reasoned, it would bring the RED team to the main compound. Everyone was wary, particularly when they emerged from the jungle and found themselves on the same road Scout discovered some time earlier. A quick check of the map confirmed they were on the right track.

“If I were tryin’ to kill off invaders, this’d be a good place to set some booby-traps,” Demoman said, surveying the landscape with the eye of a seasoned expert. “Not the whole stretch, mind – unless I had an endless supply o’ land mines. But anyone makin’ their way t’the estate would prefer a nice, open road tae that stinkin’ jungle, ya ken?”

“Guess it’s time to see how good this idea really is, then.” Although he was the most vulnerable member of the group, with his hands full of tools instead of guns, Engineer had taken the lead. In place of his usual goggles, he was wearing a bulky assortment of electronic gewgaws, all of which were affixed to some sort of visor. Something he had put together the night before, he told the group, for the purpose of letting a man see in the dark.

Demoman wasn’t sure what all those parts were supposed to do, or how seeing-in-the-dark goggles were supposed to help with locating traps in broad daylight, but everyone else seemed to be giving Engineer the benefit of the doubt. (I know the wee fellow’s never let us down before, but he could get all of us blown up if he’s wrong about this... Oh well, that’s always the worst that could happen, isn’t it? Maybe if we wind up in respawn, they’ll let us carpet-bomb this place on the next pass.)

The others huddled together impatiently, wiping the rain from their faces and waiting to see if anything would happen. Even Soldier was being quiet for a change, something Demoman couldn’t complain about. (Seems like he’s got no time for any sort of delicate operation, unless it’s something Engineer is doing...) Demoman might have mused over this, but he was the only one present with a lot of trap-related experience, and figured he should be on the lookout for anything suspicious. Just in case those goggles did nothing.

Engineer made a pensive sound. “Say, uh, DeGroot-y’see that big rock over there, by the roadside? I think there’s somethin’ in the lee of it. Can you toss a grenade by it, just to be sure?”

Demoman probably would have done just about anything to alleviate his boredom at this point, but blowing things up was his favourite pastime. “Aye,” he said, and casually fired off a shot with his grenade launcher.

There was an explosion, naturally, but a larger one than he had expected. As gritty mud rained down on the RED mercenaries, Demoman gave a low whistle. After an uncertain moment, the others realized the meaning of this, and a sense of optimism seemed to grow amongst them. Soldier clapped his hands down on Engineer and Demoman’s shoulders.

“Looks like you were both right, men! How quickly do you think we can proceed to the enemy’s stronghold like this?”

“I don’t wanna get too ballsy while we’re dealing with buried ordinance, but... well, between the rain and the fact that these guys were probably in a hurry to booby-trap the whole plantation, I’m reasonably certain that mines along this road won’t be covered too well. Which is good for us, because-” Engineer paused to tap the side of his cumbersome headgear. “-I’ll be able to spot ‘em using thermal imaging. Given how Demoman here can dispose of ‘em real quick, I’d say a relaxed pace would be best for us. Like a walk around the garden, but with more explosions.”

Medic tried to clean the specks of mud from his glasses with exquisite care. “As ve approach ze building complex, it vill become increasingly likely ze noise we are making could attract ze enemy’s notice. ...killing zem all is our goal, of course, but I suggest everyone who isn’t sweeping for mines should be scrutinizing their surroundings for signs of enemy activity. Snipers. Sentries. Zat sort of thing.”

“Sounds like a great job fer you, four-eyes!” Demoman laughed, reaching over to snap one of the doctor’s shoulder-straps. Medic slapped his hand away, looking nonplussed. “Don’t be such a girl, ah was just teasin’...”

A weird little smile tugged at Medic’s face. “Herr Demoman, mein kleiner Demoman, you vould burst into tears if I were to ridicule you for your number of-”

Soldier broke up the discussion, sparing Demoman any eye-related grief. “WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR, THEN?! This isn’t first grade, men, THIS IS WAR! Engineer, Demoman, you two keep doing what you’re doing. Everyone else, we are deep in hostile territory and we can’t afford to lose a single member of the team to inattentiveness. KEEP! YOUR! EYES! PEELED! Now, MOVE OUT!”

You’ll get ta do all the vivisectin’ your little heart can handle, Ruprecht. ‘ere, I even went through the trouble of fixin’ up some tranq darts for when the occasion presents itself.

Uh-Oh.

Since it has been established that the non-rogue mercenaries will always be brought back to life, you keep up the suspence by replacing the question "are our heroes going to die?" with the question "are our heroes going to be turtured?"

Good idea, it's very effective.

This post has been deleted.

our lost kingdoms: the giant update
(A.K.A. Wherein Shit Gets Real)
_____________________________________________

It might be as long as a week or two before I post the next segment, but I need time to get it right. It's going to be a big one. A battle scene, and an update on what the rest of the RED team has been up to while Scout, Sniper and BLU Spy were busy eating ham and motherfuckers.

Got my usual suspect to give this the one over, so I deleted the last post... and here it is again, just more polished.
_____________________________________________

Many years ago, the mansion's parlour-room was a picture of opulence and refinement. Decades of neglect had reduced it to its current state of dilapidation, and as the trio of mercenaries hunkered down in a corner to eat their meal of stolen food, Sniper found himself peering out one of the grimy windows. The curtains were long gone from most of them, but a thick layer of cobwebs and dirt obscured the view. He frowned, and turned his eyes to the tin of biscuits he'd selected from his rucksack.

Although they were probably far from any hostiles, Scout was still speaking quietly, for which Sniper was grateful. "Ugh, cold rations. This blows, I wish we had a fire..."

"I know I'm stating the obvious, but we need a plan," Sniper muttered, gingerly nibbling at his food. "These blokes are under orders to stay inside all day, and as I were saying before, they seem to 'ave set up camp in the kitchen. Now, you don't wanna engage them straight up, which I can- I admit, I can see where you're coming from." He paused, gesturing at the BLU agent, who was smoking in silence. "We can wait for 'em to split up, but... well, who knows how long that'll be?"

Scout noisily scarfed down some tinned peaches, then said, "Why not stick around in the room with all the food? We can ambush whoever they send out to get dinner, from there."

"Dat's not far from da kitchen, though. We'd have to be quiet about it- and clean. If someone comes looking for him afterwards and sees blood, I'm pretty sure dey'll start yelling for backup." Spy seemed adamantly set against any plan that might involve actual fighting.

Sniper frowned. "I know you're scared to death of getting your suit dirty, but we probably won't be able to just neatly backstab each of these blokes and call it a day. For all I know, they could move in pairs. We've got to divide them if we're gonna' take 'em down one by one, find some way to draw them apart. Any ideas?"

"I dunno... hey, did any of you see smoke detectors in the part that looked like our base? Maybe if we set a fire... ...for that matter, you think they have security cameras runnin' down there?"

Scout seemed belatedly worried by the thought that they could have been spotted, but Spy shrugged it off. "If dey did, we would have been attacked by now. Dis place has been abandoned for two years, remember? It's a miracle dere's electricity at all. Da generator is probably running on emergency settings."

"Crap. Well, that's all I could think of." The boy set to work on some stolen cookies, a disappointed expression on his face.

"Oi- how about that engineer? We saw three of 'em, but unless their engineer is keepin' your pal Andy company, he's probably alone right now. Working on that door they mentioned." A secondary goal began to surface in Sniper's mind, as he remembered the rogue team's talk of the engineer. (He's trying to break open some secret room in the mansion. I don't know if there's treasure in there, or something else entirely, but it's probably the reason we're here. I'm curious to know what this miserable job has really been all about...)

"Right, da short little fucker!" He could almost see Spy's eyes light up at the realization that they had a lone target to pursue. "I don't know da layout of dis building, but if we're quiet, we can probably track him down. Any machinery he's got running would be hard to miss in dis empty house, we'll hear it a long way off."

Scout couldn't talk through a mouthful of food, but he nodded in agreement. Satisfied that this was a useful goal, not to mention one he could get the others to cooperate with him on, Sniper finished eating and rose to his feet. He took one last look through the window, and squinted, getting a blurry view of the estate. "Looks like there's a conservatory looking out on the garden," he murmured absentmindedly.

"Huh, dat's where I saw da engineer and da soldier, yesterday. Dey were having a smoke, never knew I was watching dem."

Sniper glanced at the others, feeling realization dawn on him. "Think we ought to start searching towards that end of the house?"

_________________________


Sniper was no electrical engineer, but he knew they were on the right track when he spotted thick cables protruding from a hole in the baseboard and trailing off down the hall. The others spotted this alteration as well; he heard a quiet murmur from Spy, who had reverted to his preferred state of near-invisibility.

"Da house must be too old for dem to hook up a modern generator to it... or maybe dey were afraid putting a current t'rough da old wiring would start fires. Dey must have simply punched a hole in from da base and started sapping its power supply."

"Seems like it," Sniper whispered. He had taken his glasses off to see better in the gloom. Without any active light source but the windows in adjacent rooms, the three men found themselves slipping in and out of darkness, as they tried to navigate the crumbling manor. The cables were like a trail of breadcrumbs, though; amidst the halls and chambers rendered indistinguishable by decades of thick dust, the wiring marked a clear route. A route to what, he couldn't be completely certain, but all evidence indicated they would find this engineer at the end.

Glancing back for a moment, he caught a glimpse of Scout. The American looked like a kid in a haunted house, wide-eyed and fidgety. Sniper couldn't blame him. Even with his renewed confidence in the respawn system, he was also wary of what might lie around the next corner; while their employers had the technology to bring a man back from the dead, it was still in everyone's best interests that the mercenaries retained their survival instincts. Suicidal fearlessness was rarely a useful attitude in combat.

"Oh man, this is real fuckin' spooky," came a faint murmur in the dark.

(Definitely like a kid in a haunted house,) Sniper thought. He smiled a little, secretly enjoying the atmosphere - at least in the part of his being that enjoyed awful pulp-horror stories. There was too much at stake for him to let his mind wander, and Sniper kept his keen eyes on their surroundings. Traps could be anywhere, after all.

The hum of machines could be heard, at first distant, but growing louder as they followed the cables. Their breadcrumb trail ended abruptly at a set of double doors, which had been left ajar to admit the new wiring. A blinding shaft of daylight peeked out, and Sniper could see the faint shape of Spy before it, hesitant to open the doors further when someone could be in the next room.

“What are you bloody waiting for?” Sniper growled impatiently. “You're a ghost, mate, he'll think it's a draft if he notices at all.”

The Canadian didn't sound eager to move forward. “Alright, alright, I was just checking for booby-traps. Hostie, what are you in a hurry for? Subterfuge is a patient man's game.”

One of the doors began to open, albeit slowly. Just as the gap grew wide enough for someone to get through, the hinges gave a loud creak, and Sniper thought he saw the invisible man jump in surprise. His heart definitely reacted to the noise; he felt as though it was trying to leap out of his mouth. After a few terrifying moments, Spy sighed audibly and crept ahead, keeping the door propped open for the others.

“It's clear... dere's nobody in here right now,” Spy said, sounding a little shaky. Distrust nagged at Sniper's mind, but the only noise coming from the room was clearly mechanical, so he slipped through and did his best to stay flattened against the wall. Scout followed close behind, and the BLU agent carefully eased the door shut, making less noise than before.

Taking a look around, Sniper realized they were in the conservatory he'd seen from the parlour window. Crumbling wicker furniture had been heaped in one corner, no doubt by the home's current inhabitants, and what was once a sun-room had now become an impromptu workshop. They had arrived at the renegade engineer's territory. There were French doors leading out to the garden, but morning glory had long since overgrown much of the conservatory's outer structure, obscuring the view outside. Powerful sodium lamps kept the room brightly lit, and a mainframe computer stood apart from the dirtier machining tools that occupied much of the floorspace. Even with a large air conditioner labouring alongside the computer, the room's heat was stifling.

Sniper wasn't worried about the tropical atmosphere. He had bigger concerns – locating the engineer, for a start. In a low voice, he said, “Either he's hiding behind that giant calculator, or he isn't here right now. What's that alcove along the wall, there? It looks like another entrance...”

The men began a tentative exploration of the room, circling around an assortment of jury-rigged lathes, drill presses, and half-finished sentries. Sniper hadn't seen any of the man's work up until this point, but he quickly realized that this engineer was much more haphazard about his construction technique than any others the sharpshooter had worked with. (Maybe his materials out here are limited... they probably took his tools off this island when they left two years ago, and I reckon him and his mates came back here on their own power. He's probably had to piece a lot of things together on his own. What's the computer for, though..?) Somewhere amidst the machines, Sniper heard Scout gasp in surprise, and he looked around quickly to see if the boy was in trouble.

"Holyyyyy shit," Scout whispered, pointing at something. " "R.C." That, that's gotta' be it. The door they were talkin' about."

Sniper wormed his way out through the maze of machining tools, and saw what Scout had been gawking at. It was the alcove he had noticed earlier; now that he could look into it, Sniper realized it really was another entrance... of a sort. Inside was a short flight of stairs, leading down to a wide, sealed-off passage. A massive metal door blocked the way. It was the colour of tarnished gold, with the letters "R.C." boldly engraved at eye-level, while the rest of its face was textured with tiny squares. Overcome by curiosity, Sniper crept down the stairs to examine it. The other two joined him, and for a few long moments, everyone was at a loss for words. Spy's cloaking device crackled quietly as it revealed him, but with such an compelling sight to occupy him, he barely noticed.

At length, Scout spoke. "Looks like they tried ta blast their way in... man, what the hell's that made of? They couldn't even put a scratch on it." Every other surface in the niche was stained with soot; explosives had destroyed the layers of plaster and scarred the stone underneath, but the door itself was completely unscathed.

Although tempted to touch the door, Sniper decided that they were being reckless enough as it is. He leaned close to it for a better look, though, and something in the air made his hair stand on end. "See how it's patterned like checkerboard? ...my God, I think those are little keys. There's a- a letter on each one..."

Scout reached over and pushed one of the buttons, depressing it slightly into the door's surface. Nothing happened. "Think it's some kinda' puzzle? ...geeze, you guys hear that weird noise? It's like static or somethin', I started hearing it when we came down here."

"T'ought it was my imagination," Spy grunted. "Sounds like it's coming from inside my head... what da fuck is going on here?"

"What? I don't know what you're talking about, mate. Only thing I'm hearin' is the machines in the room up there." Sniper had always been able to trust his ears, especially when there were dangerous things lurking about, so he was troubled by the possibility he had suffered hearing loss. (That land mine was pretty close. But my ears stopped ringing a while ago...)

Scout put his hands over his ears for a moment, then took them away, frowning. "You gotta' be going deaf or something, man. Seriously, this is fuckin' freaking me out! Unless someone put a radio inside my skull when I wasn't watchin', there is no reason I should be hearing stuff from in there."

Sniper suddenly found himself thinking of Weird Tales- specifically, this one story that was now strangely pertinent. "Scout, d'you have any fillings? ...how about you, Spook?"

The other two men gave him incredulous looks. After a long moment, Spy nodded slowly. Scout rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Well yeah, but what the hell's that got to do with anything?"

"I read somewhere that people with metal in their heads - y'know, fillings, steel plates, things like that - they sometimes pick up radio waves with 'em. Maybe that's why you're hearing strange noises." Sniper was feeling kind of entertained by this possibility, but his explanation didn't seem to inspire much faith from his companions. He sighed, and decided to elaborate on it. "I got this weird feeling like a static charge in the air when I came down here. You feel it too, don't you? ...look, whatever's behind that door, I'm willing to bet it's not lost pirate gold."

Spy began to make sense of his words, and Sniper could almost see the Québécois' eyes light up. "Somet'ing technological is locked up in dere. Who would go t'rough dat kind of trouble to stash machinery, though? If it's da t'ing dat's making my eardrums buzz from out here, it must still be running after all dese years..."

"You think it's like, mad scientist kinda' shit in there? Maybe a bunch of those metal balls that shoot lightning all over the place? If the only thing in there is a fuckin' science fair, I'm gonna' be pretty pissed off." Scout sighed and folded his arms across his chest, looking up at the multitude of buttons that covered the door.

The Australian scratched his chin, and realized he was in desperate need of a shave. "Nobody would waste their time hiding worthless curios. Whatever it is, these blokes want it."

"But Andy was tellin' the other guy he thought it was-" Scout started, then paused for a moment to consider the situation. "...huh, I guess he IS kinda' stupid. If they came all the way out here for it, it has to be really valuable... I bet their engineer knows what it is, even if the rest of them don't."

The masked man had lapsed into silence, apparently examining the symbols on the door. Sniper devoted a minute or two to looking them over as well, but he couldn't see any obvious pattern. His earlier assessment was a bit off, he realized – in addition to letters, there were other symbols as well. (Wait, I'm just seeing more than one alphabet here. Some of those funny ones are just Greek. And that backwards “R” is Cyrillic... hm, too bad I can only read English. I suppose one or more of the alphabets on there could be red herrings.) Sniper sighed, absentmindedly running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to straighten it. “I don't know a thing about cryptography, so this is out of my league. Offhand, I'd suggest the computer up there is probably working on it.”

“Makes sense. Huh, it's smaller den da ones we were using during da war... leaps and bounds, eh? I'd need a lot of free time to start deciphering dis on my own, anyhow. Let's stop gawking and find somewhere safer to lie in wait, dat engineer could come back here any time.” Spy gave a long, smoky sigh, then turned and walked back up the stairs.

He paused at the top of the stairs, grunting in pain and going stock-still. “Fuck. We- we're found out.” Spy reeled about and staggered down to join his teammates, then collapsed against the door, panting weakly. A projectile was lodged in his left shoulder, still dangling from the wound its needle-tip had made.

(Tranquilizer dart. Someone with good eyes was waiting for him,) Sniper thought. A split second later he was on the ground beside Spy, rifling through the man's pockets for his pistol. Sniper's own guns were still in his rucksack, but the SMG was damaged, and the rifle no good at close quarters. Following his lead, Scout had dropped down below the edge of the staircase as well.

Glancing at the boy, Sniper hissed, “Gimme your double-barrelled shotgun, mate. No good for you with that injury. 'ere, take the frog's Browning, it'll hit harder than your little target pistol.” Scout looked like he wanted to start loudly freaking out, but managed to keep quiet and exchanged weapons with Sniper. Beside them, Spy groaned faintly and tugged at the Australian's sleeve, but he was too sedated to resist the theft of his gun – or to take part in the coming fight.

“We gonna' wait for them to come here, or charge out, guns blazing?” Scout asked, his voice reduced to a shaky whisper.

Despite everything that had happened since he crash-landed on the island, Sniper was now steely and determined. This was familiar territory, a life-and-death waiting game where the first man to make a bad move would pay for it with his life. He levelled the Force-a-Nature and spoke quietly to his younger teammate. “Whoever's up there nailed 'im as soon as he came up the stairs. Unless they start lobbing bombs, I'd just as soon lie in wait. You see anyone enter your line of sight- kill him.”

“This'd be easier if WE had grenades or somethin'...” The boy gave a despairing moan, and tried to get used to the feeling of his new sidearm. Maybe it was lack of sleep or just the sudden turn of events, but Scout was starting to wig out, and Sniper knew he couldn't let that happen. Now more than ever, they needed the kid's usual moxie.

“...oi, got any cans of food left? Just grab one and throw it at 'em. You pitch right-handed anyhow, don't you? Could spook 'em long enough to give us an opening.” Sniper's mouth twisted into a fang-toothed smile as he whispered to Scout, and this seemed to restore the American's confidence somewhat.

“Alright... okay, yeah. We can do this.” Scout pulled a tin of spaghetti out of his messenger bag and held it for a second, gauging its weight and the power he'd need to lob it convincingly.

“Listen good. If it sounds like they're scattering, we'll have a moment to look around up there, maybe pick a few of 'em off.”

“Gotchya.” Momentarily setting his gun down, Scout crouched in preparation for charging. Then he took a deep breath and threw the can up out of the stairwell, yelling, “EAT THIS, ASSHOLE!”

That definitely got their attention. Someone had been lurking just out of sight, near the mouth of the stairway; he gave a muffled whoop of panic and ran, knocking over some machinery in the process. One of his cohorts exclaimed, "Oh shit!" This was indication enough to Scout that the ruse had worked, and he grabbed Spy's pistol, then scrambled up the stairs to meet the enemy face-on.

Sniper had visualized this tactic as a means of buying time; he had no idea how many of the rogue mercenaries were up there, let alone what kind of resistance they could put up, and wanted to get a look at them while they were scattering. Actually leaving the cover of their little hidey-hole wasn't quite his intention. Feeling a jolt of worry for the safety of the young American, he lunged after Scout. It was too late now for turning back - with one teammate and not so much as a full first aid kit at his disposal, Sniper charged into battle.

As soon as Scout left the alcove, Sniper could hear gunfire. A second later he reached the conservatory as well, and saw the boy was busily perforating the renegade who'd gotten entangled amongst the machines. The target in question might have been a RED pyro at one time, but now he was just a man in a dirty boiler suit, desperately trying to extricate his shotgun from underneath himself as Scout added bullet-holes to his back. Scout's natural sadism was something to which Sniper had long-since become desensitized, but he thought it was foolish to waste ammunition like that.

"Pow! Execution-style, motherfucker!"

"He's not alone, ya little mongrel! Look sharp, I saw-" Sniper grabbed Scout and shoved him to the floor, sparing him from another tranq dart as a result. Finding cover behind a drill press, Sniper peered through a gap between two pulleys, trying to locate the mercenary who had put BLU Spy out of the fight.

Underneath him, Scout squirmed and spat obscenities. "Get offa' me, dingo! We've gotta' kill those fuckers before they regroup!"

If the situation was much different, Sniper might have found the closeness and friction between their bodies to be arousing. Right now, though, sex was the last thing on his mind. "Keep your bleedin' head down, you nearly lost it just now. Their sniper's somewhere around here!" he hissed.

"Fuck, alright. Just- how the hell am I supposed ta shoot anyone from down here? Lemme go, I'll be careful."

Sniper crawled off of the other RED, who rose to a crouch and huddled up next to him, seeking targets. The man who'd been shot was still flopping weakly on the floor somewhere, groaning through his welding hood. The enemy sniper, on the other hand, was making himself much scarcer. Sniper considered the direction those darts had been fired from, and realized the other marksman was probably hiding amidst the pile of ruined wicker furniture. (Bet some fire would scare him out. Too bad that bloke on the floor doesn't seem to have a flamethrower with him.) While he had the luxury of being under cover, Sniper reached into Scout's messenger bag and grabbed a box of shells, then emptied them into his pockets. The boy was about to yell at Sniper, but clammed up when he saw what he was doing.

From the other end of the room, they could hear the rogue sniper taunting them. "Don't be like that, ya cowardly little buggers... Just put your 'ands up and come out, nice an' peaceful. Ol' Kelly promises 'e won't hurt a hair on your blighted scalps. 'ow's that for diplomacy?"

"The hell you won't! I don't know why you shit-heads are tryin' to kill us, but I'm gonna' find you and I'm gonna' knock your fuckin' teeth down your throat!" Scout was never one to pass up a verbal altercation, and he responded in typical Scout fashion- with obscenities.

"Sure you are, short hoggers! I tell yer what, we've got a lad 'bout your age who's feelin' a bit low, says one of your mates shot his hand off this morning. But I'll bet I know how to cheer 'im right up! All you gotta' do is poke your head up so's I can stick you wif a knock-out dart. Then he can 'ave a go at you with his favorite baseball bat, that'll make 'im forget all that nastiness he's been through today..."

Sniper didn't know if this "Kelly" bloke was lonely for conversation, or just susceptible to the same urges which made Scout such a loudmouth, but the man seemed to be letting his focus stray off-course. (I should use this to my advantage. I wonder how well he's seeing through that blind...) While he was still entertaining the idea of trying to drive the enemy out with fire, Sniper didn't really want to burn the whole manor down- not while him and Scout were still in it, at any rate. With all the jury-rigged machinery around, dust and grease were spread about the room in equal parts, and igniting either of those things could have explosive consequences. (I'll have to ambush him. Is there a good route I could take through this midden?)

As Scout traded insults with the enemy marksman, Sniper flattened himself down onto the dirty floor and wriggled along, managing to keep hidden behind some debris until he made his way under a long folding table. Trying not to consider how much weight the flimsy aluminum legs might be supporting, just inches over his head, he squirmed his way down the length of the table and paused there to consider his next move. The heap of ruined wicker was only a few feet away now, and Sniper could see Kelly's midriff through tiny gaps in the reedy material.

The obscenities being shouted by the other men made it difficult to concentrate, but masked any sounds Sniper made in his precarious advance. If he wasn't concerned about upsetting the table legs and being crushed, he would have shot his enemy right there. He wasn't sure what kind of a kick the Force-a-Nature weapon had, though, and that made him wary about using it in his current position. (If I can draw his attention away from here, I'll be able to sneak out and blast him before he knows what's coming. Think, Mundy, think! Maybe if I flick a bit of hardware onto that metal bin over there...)

While Sniper was mulling over this, a distraction suddenly presented itself- but not one he would have preferred. Out the corner of his eye, he could see Kelly straightening up a little, then going still. He didn't realize the meaning of this until the man's rifle coughed quietly, and Scout gave a panicky yelp. "Motherfucker, you shot me! What the fuck was..."

The American's voice trailed off into an indistinct groan; he must have taken a look out in the hopes of locating their target, and was rewarded with a tranquilizer dart. Kelly started laughing like a madman. Through the wicker blind, Sniper could see him doubled-over, no doubt slapping his knee in mirth.

Sniper bit down on the curses that were trying to escape his mouth, and decided it was now or never. He clambered out from under cover and crouched, bracing the stock in the crook of his elbow, then took aim at Kelly, and unloaded the shotgun into him. The other Australian went down with an agonized howl; Sniper couldn't see how seriously he'd wounded his counterpart, but he was determined to finish the job.

(It's been a long time since I killed someone who won't come back to life,) Sniper thought ruefully. He wondered if working for the RED company had made him deranged, and smirked faintly as he stomped an opening through the brittle reeds that separated him from Kelly. (Nah. This is self-defense.) The renegade was alive, but his left leg would never be the same; even with ragged material and flesh still covering from it, Sniper could see that his shot had shattered Kelly's kneecap.

The rogue sniper looked up, pale-faced, gritting his teeth in pain. He was still clutching his rifle, and took a desperate shot at Sniper from point-blank range, but somehow managed to miss. “Don’t come any closer, you bastard! …urrgh, I knew this job would be th’death of me. I reckon you’re ‘bout to finish me off, aren’t ya? J- just do me a favour and hear me out first, mate.”

Sniper delivered a sharp kick to the other man’s weapon and sent it flying. “I’d just as soon pass on that,” he grunted, reloading the scattergun. Kelly glanced around frantically, and started trying to crawl away amidst the wicker debris, but he probably knew he was in a hopeless situation.

“You wanna’ know what’s going on here? Ha… hahaha, I could save you a lot of trouble, y’know? Don't you want someone to let you in on the game?” Kelly stuttered, then groaned; he must have been in spectacular agony.

A scraping noise caught Sniper’s attention, and he turned about just in time to see the rogue team’s Pyro aiming a shotgun at him. He decided to save the sneering one-liners for another day and just blasted the shorter man, throwing him back against a ruined turret. Sniper thought the act might awaken some strong emotional response within him, but he realized that, respawn or no, any man should know the consequences of pulling a gun on someone. (I just put the little wanker out of his misery, really. Surprised he could even move, after Scout emptied all those bullets into him.)

Kneeling before the fallen mercenary, Sniper wrenched the welder's mask off his face, then held a hand over his mouth for a few moments, but no breath came forth from his lips. Satisfied that he was truly dead, Sniper turned back to Kelly and chambered another two rounds. "Sorry for the delay, mate. Nothin' ta worry about, you're next."

Kelly had produced a machete from somewhere on his person, and was using it to tap out an unsteady rhythm on the floor. "Is there a reason you're takin' your sweet time with this? Not to suggest I'm in a hurry to die, mind you, but- Christ, this really fuckin' hurts. Agh... 's like some kind of sick torture, lettin' me wait like this. D'you enjoy watching one of your own bloody countrymen suffer?" As he spoke, Kelly's gaze roamed about the room, pausing here and there. He kept rapping on the tiles with his knife, his hand moving so quickly it almost seemed like a nervous tic.

"Not really. It's sort of nice hearin' someone who doesn't have a foreign accent, though. Between that and the heat, this could almost be home." Sniper smiled humorlessly, snapping the Force-a-Nature shut and cocking it. He lifted his gaze to Kelly, and felt a momentary twinge of pity for the wounded man. "I'd give you one last fag before I do you in, but... let's be honest, mate, you'll slit my throat if I came any closer."

"D-don't hafta' hand it to me," Kelly stammered, his expression brightening a little in spite of the pain. "Just toss one 'ere. Got me own lighter."

Sniper gave a grim chuckle, then fished a cigarette out of his breast pocket and flicked it over to Kelly. "Right, then. But be quick about it, I don't fancy hangin' around here any longer than I have to." The knowledge that his companions were drugged was a dark cloud over his plans for the immediate future, but he had already decided that abandoning them wasn't an option. If he'd have to wait for them to come around anyways, Sniper figured he could spare a moment to let his victim smoke.

"Guess I misjudged you," Kelly said, clamping the cigarette between his lips, then lighting it with one hand while keeping up the floor-tapping with the other. He drew in a deep breath, then gave something between a moan and a sigh, letting his body sag back against the dilapidated patio furniture. "Seems you're a fine bloke after all."

“It’s the least I’d hope for if I were in your shoes.” Sniper shrugged, relaxing his posture a little. He didn’t lower his weapon, though- while there was really no way Kelly could attack him at this point, he didn’t want to turn his back on the other man. As he waited, Sniper could feel his irritation with the incessant rapping sound start to rise. (Is that bastard having a seizure or something? Maybe I ought to shoot him now, just to-)

Sniper’s world suddenly erupted in blinding agony, and he managed to get out a hoarse scream before blackness engulfed him. Understanding of what had happened would come to him later; he was already unconscious when he went face-down on the floor, still twitching uncontrollably from the attack that had brought him down. Standing behind him was the man that he and the others had come to here kill: the rogue team’s engineer.



Living in the tropics, not to mention on his own schedule, had transformed him in a similar fashion to the other RED deserters. He had been working almost non-stop since their arrival, popping bennies and God knows what else to keep himself going, only breaking for the occasional shower or cigarette. As a result of this, the man had a week's worth of beard on his face, and his clothes were encrusted with shop dirt.

“That was a close call,” he said quietly, switching off his homemade stun-gun. “Thanks for keepin’ him distracted, buddy. I was kinda’ shy about stickin’ my neck out after he shot our pyro.” A steel-toed work boot rolled Sniper onto his back. By some miracle, the Force-a-Nature didn’t go off in his hands, but it took the mechanic a few tries to wrench it away from him.

“You’re fucking right that was close, Tex… Jesus Christ, he was just about ready ta kill me there! Are you sure you couldn’t have moved any faster?” Kelly snapped. He was suffering too much to do anything more than curse at his teammate, and even that was taxing. “Urrgh, just get Ruprecht in ‘ere. And kick that bastard a couple times for me, will yer? My knee… oh Christ, this’s almost as bad as bleedin’ kidney stones.”

Tex stared down at the wounded man for a long time. With his eyes hidden behind dark lenses, it was impossible to discern what sort of feelings might be going through his mind; amidst the haze of crippling agony, Kelly suddenly felt afraid of him, afraid of the way he was fingering the stock of that loaded shotgun.

"What's- hey, what're you waitin' for? Is something the matter wif you?" The Australian chuckled nervously, then groaned, dizzy from blood loss.

After an uncomfortable pause, Tex finished appraising his injured teammate, and lowered the weapon he was holding. "...just gatherin' my thoughts. Alright, I'll call for the medic. Lemme take care of these infiltrators first, just so's they don't get up and cause any trouble. Won't take more than a minute or two."

The engineer set his gun on a table and considered Sniper for a moment, then stomped down on the RED mercenary's face, breaking his aviators. Satisfied, Tex took out a roll of duct tape and set to work on the unconscious men with expert speed, binding their hands behind their backs where they lay. Kelly slouched in the corner and whimpered, hoping that help would come soon - preferably before Tex got any funny ideas.

I'm late for the "I'm reading it" party because I was letting a few updates go by so I could marathon them.
But count me in as still reading.
And liking.

Okay, that was the most exciting chapter next! I am even more intrigued about what technology has been hidden away now.

I really like the slightly sociopathic edge you give to all the characters too - these guys are mercenaries, after all. I eagerly await more!

This post has been deleted.

>>71 Yeah, even when I'm writing mushy or introspective stuff, I try not to forget that all of these characters exist in the rather morally dark gray area of being professional killers. Even in the restricted setting where they're fighting other mercenaries (and not innocent bystanders or anything like that), it's clear that all of them enjoy hurting their opponents.

Also, hark, an update (complete with unresolved helmet-related tension). Not as long as the last, but eh, I'm doing what I can. My beta reader is on vacation in Japan and my clone is hogging my computer to play Fallout, so this hasn't been checked by a second party, but I'll probably badger her to look at it later and repost if there's any changes.

Addendum- I deleted the last post after some minor adjustments to the wording. Here it is again!
____________________________________

The noonday sun beat down on the RED team with brutal strength, burning away the rain, and leaving them sweaty and parched. Nobody wanted a drink right now more than Demoman. While his natural inclination was to be drunk for as many of his waking hours as possible, his supply of liquor was limited, being out in the wilderness and all. Since he knew his stash would be restricted by how much he could reasonably carry, Demoman had taken the extra precaution of packing something much more volatile than his usual scrumpy. (I've got to hand it to the locals here, they've certainly perfected the art of distilling. The flavour doesn't really compare with whisky, but the strength? I'm absolutely certain you could power rockets with this fire-water. Never thought I'd find a liquor that I wouldn't drink straight up...) As the group made their way along the main road, he pulled a bottle of extremely potent rum out of his rucksack, then carefully poured some into his canteen. It was a mind-boggling 80% alcohol, and while it didn't improve the taste of piss-warm bottled water, the kick was something Demoman appreciated.

Demoman took a drink from the canteen, then looked off towards the estate. He was catching glimpses of it now through the trees, along with the complex of buildings where the team was told they would be fighting. With the way things were going so far, Demoman wasn't sure anymore who they were up against, or what sort of fight he should be expecting. This sentiment was common to most of his teammates as well; although Engineer was pretty quiet as he scanned for traps, the others were tensely discussing the situation. Normally, Demoman would be eager to take part in such a conversation, but he was feeling withdrawn for some reason.

He found himself studying a promontory that stood about a hundred yards off the right side of the road. It was an extension of the mountains that covered the centre of the island, a steep cliff tattooed by green streaks of vine and climbing cactus. Trees skirted the ledge high above, and for a moment, Demoman was sure he caught a glimpse of something moving between them. He grimaced, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand, then looked again. Nothing. “Bah, ah must be lettin' this place get t'me,” he muttered.

“Whoa, hold up!” Engineer stopped in his tracks, and the rest of the mercenaries piled up behind him in a human traffic jam. The little guy seemed to have developed a sort of tunnel vision with that gizmo of his; all of his attention was on the road ahead, and he didn't even notice the others struggling not to trip over him. “There's somethin' anomalous in the trees over yonder, I don't- I'm not sure what I'm seein'... it's gotta' be man-made, though. Hard to make out its exact shape, but it's about as tall as a telephone pole. Probably metal. Hmm...”

As Engineer fiddled with the settings of his visor, Medic suddenly flinched as though stung by a bee. “Zat could be another sentry, like ze one we saw yesterday- ze one zat shot down Spy and Sniper's helicopter. It vas hidden in ze trees, but I studied it best as I could... Very tall and thin, vith metal casing over its entire length.”

“Vas probably built as aircraft deterrent. No guns, only rockets,” Heavy added.

Soldier opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again, frowning under his helmet. Demoman found himself grinning; the American probably wanted to second-guess his teammates, but didn't really have a more plausible theory about what the object might be.

Engineer, on the other hand, had questions. “How close do we gotta' get before it notices us? Any suggestions for takin' it out safely?”

“I'm not sure, it might... ah, ze problem is...” Medic suddenly lapsed into uncertainty, which didn't do much for Demoman's faith in him.

“Ve don't know.” Heavy was inarticulate, but he managed to relay what they had discovered the day before. “Yesterday, ve land in rough weather. Strong wind, leaves blowing all around. Afterwards, vhen the wind vas calm, sentry become active. Medic say he think it turns off in bad weather, so it von't shoot waving trees. Only people or helicopters move in calm weather.”

“Makes sense, if it uses motion sensors. It'd wanna have a long range, though... either it ain't too interested in what's on the ground, or there's enough cover between here and there that it just hasn't seen us yet.” Engineer sighed, tugging off his helmet for a moment and mopping the sweat from his stubbly dome with a shirtsleeve. “Even if it's somethin' else entirely, we're probably better off destroyin' it just to be safe. How are we gonna get closer to that thing without bein' killed?”

Pyro perked up, cradling his beloved flamethrower. “Rff hrr shrrd hh frrurr, whh crrn urrh dhh smrrgh hhf crrhfrr.”

Engineer sighed, giving the rubber-suited maniac a doting pat on the shoulder. “That's not a bad idea, but smoke might not be enough to confuse it. Not all engineers give their turrets visual sensors to track incoming targets, they can also use acoustic systems, or even eclectic things like molecule sniffers and seismic sensors.”

“If I lob enough bombs in its direction, I'm bound tae blow it up sooner or later,” Demoman said. Clearing away landmines had been a decent way to spend the morning, but it was starting to feel repetitive. He was eager to start exploding bigger things.

“Demoman's got the right idea! Just point me in the right direction, Engie. There isn't a damn thing on God's green earth that can survive MY WRATH!" Soldier had already shouldered his rocket launcher, and was practically dancing with joy at the opportunity to finally use it.

"I dunno if that's the best idea, boys. You start blowin' up big pieces of the landscape around here, and they'll know exactly where we are. There's gotta' be a safer way..." Engineer was still trying to be prudent. Medic expressed his agreement with a nod, but the others were losing patience with the team's careful pace. Soldier seemed particularly frustrated, and he turned to face Engineer with a reproachful expression.

His voice was unusually quiet, a monotonous growl in place of the energetic barking that Demoman was used to. "Is there a reason you keep shooting me down, private?"

Everyone went quiet as the Americans faced off. Demoman did his best to keep watch on their surroundings, but he listened curiously. Hearing Soldier argue with an "indoor voice" was strange, and Demoman found himself absentmindedly pondering what it might mean.

Engineer sure looked taken-aback. "What? ...c'mon, Sarge, I don't mean ta single you out, or anything like that. I'm just- shoot, I just want us to win this thing, y'know? I dunno if we can take that kinda' risk..." His brow creased above the visor he was wearing, and he anxiously bit his lip.

“War is all about taking risks, private. You're worried they'll find us out here? The sooner they show up, the sooner we stop sneaking around like a bunch of cat-burglars, and turn this fiasco into something we can win- a real fight.”

Soldier spat in the mud; he was practically radiating the disappointment that must have been curdling inside him since yesterday. The fact that he was expressing it without screaming at Engineer, well... it was a little confounding to Demoman. (I wonder what's gotten into him? Maybe that rumour about Engineer slipping him valium was true, after all.)

An awkward silence descended on the team as Engineer digested the other man's words. Then the Texan spoke again, wrestling that bulky headset off as he did. “I get what you're sayin'. Don't- dammit, I hope it don't seem like there's no place for you in the plans I make. I've just got a different way of lookin' at some things, I guess... But here. If you're gonna' start shootin' rockets at that thing, put this on first. You'll be able to see it better.”

Engineer offered the visor to Soldier. The older American lifted his helmet off, looking dumbfounded, then took the device and finally started returning to his regular self. A smile creased the corners of his mouth. “Well thanks, Engie! I'll put it to good use.”

As Soldier prepared to demolish the sentry tower (and everything near it), the rest of the mercenaries retreated to the shade of the roadside. Demoman was feeling kind of sore about being passed by for RED's other source of high explosives, but he kept it to himself, and drank some more to ease his frustration. (This is because I've got no depth perception, isn't it? Bloody unfair...)

The destruction was too loud for anyone to carry on a conversation, so the others busied themselves with some canned rations, and ate while they waited. Demoman wasn't hungry, and the closest thing to entertainment was watching poor Pyro wrestle haplessly with a folding can-opener; after taking pity on the firebug and opening the tin for him, Demoman had nothing to do. He found his gaze wandering back to the cliff he'd noticed earlier, but there was no sign of the figure amongst the trees.

A strange sense of premonition gnawed at the Scotsman, inspiring him to keep his eye on the sky. Even when the explosions ceased, and the two Americans returned to the team in triumph, he still felt terribly uneasy. Looking back down the road they had already travelled, Demoman thought he saw a spot on the horizon, suspended above the trees. After a moment of determined squinting, he realized that something was definitely coming their way. Demoman could only think of one thing it could possibly be.

"Heads up, lads, I think that's a helicopter inbound!" He pointed towards the shape, which was growing larger as it approached. Whether the aircraft was on route to the estate, or coming to investigate Soldier's handiwork, was open to speculation.

The other RED team members didn't take long reacting to Demoman's warning. Soldier - who had only agreed to stop for lunch after considerable urging from Engineer and Medic - sprang to his feet and quickly gulped down a can of soup. Then he picked up his rocket launcher and reloaded it hastily, shouting, "I'll blast them out of the sky!"

Medic sounded a little uncertain, as though he were trying to work out a few mental equations before passing judgement on the aircraft. "It couldn't be any of our men, yes? Even if one of zem had died in ze past few hours, it is impossible he could heff returned to ze Caribbean so quickly. ...can anyone see vhat colour zat helicopter is? Or its make, for zat matter..."

"Oh! Hand me those goggles, Sarge." Engineer scrambled to an upright position as well, pocketing the remainder of the biscuits he'd been eating. After getting his elaborate headset back, he put the thing on and started mucking around with it. The vehicle was still too distant to be clear to the naked eye, but Engineer gave it one look through the visor, and bristled. “Looks like a cargo helicopter, somethin' bigger than our Hueys. Fuselage pods and the cowling up top are painted blue... I'd be pretty suspicious of anything flyin' over this remote island as it is, but that kinda seals the deal – it's gotta be a BLU transport. They probably can't see us down here, but there's no way they'd miss that smoking wreckage up the road.”

"Is too bad you destroy big sentry," Heavy said idly, glancing at Soldier.

The lantern-jawed American turned to Heavy and opened his mouth for a retort, but was cut off by Engineer. "That just means we'll hafta shoot it down ourselves, don't it? I'll unpack that dispenser again, you boys get your biggest guns ready and wait 'til it's overhead. Any sooner, and they'll have time to split before you can do any serious damage."

Heavy had pried open several cans of rations for lunch; he finished the last one, then grinned and rose to his feet, no-doubt eager to ruin someone's day with Sasha. Soldier might have still been annoyed by his huge teammate's ribbing, but the prospect of getting to kill people helped to mend his busted balls. Although there was nothing in Medic's arsenal that could do much to a helicopter, he shouldered the Medi-gun's power pack and joined the others, followed by Pyro; his mask hid his expression as always, but he seemed optimistic about the damage his flare gun might do.

For his part, Demoman was just hoping the chopper would fly low enough for him to hit it at all. He grumbled, "Of all the rotten luck... maybe they'll try parachutin' down, an' I can pick 'em out of the air."

wow I have put off reading this for reasons beyond my comprehension but I just spent ALL day reading this all the way through... You my good friend, have me hook, line, and sinker! Please continue. I am looking froward to your next installment.

And now for another installment, in which more shit gets more real (and a bunch of people die). On a technical note: in-game, Soldier's rocket launcher fires what appear to be HEAT (high explosive anti-tank) rockets. In the real world, these would do preposterous amounts of damage to a human being, possibly even tearing a hole right through the body and detonating wherever they happened to land. In Team Fortress 2, a non-crit rocket at point blank range does a little over 100 damage (enough to almost kill a flyweight character at full health), which suggests that whatever he's using isn't actually made to penetrate steel plate armour. I try to keep things involving existing weapons or technology to be semi-realistic; that is to say, somewhere in the space between the Team Fortress 2 universe and Real Life, but in this case I'm gonna' say “fuck it, it's a fanfic” and go with the rocket launcher's TF2 abilities.

I realize most people probably don't even notice or care about this kind of tedious concern with details. I shouldn't either – I blame my father (who is a stickler for realism. Never watch a military movie with him.)
____________________________________


As the enemy helicopter came near, Tavish DeGroot couldn't help but smile a little. The promise of a fight always brought the team together. After hours of slogging down a muddy road at a snail's pace, everyone seemed overjoyed to have a fight coming up. (It won't be a long battle if the first few rockets take them down, but at least we'll have a victory under our belts. Nothing raises my spirit like watching those BLU girlies get blown to pieces.)

When the chopper was close enough for its roar to drown out casual conversation, Soldier dug his heels into the muck and lifted the business end of his rocket launcher. Demoman could see him squinting out from under his helmet at the aircraft, trying to plot its speed of approach so he'd know where to aim. He was always using fancy things like “motion parallax” and “depth perception” that came with having two eyes.

Soldier barked, “Let's take this bastard down, boys! OPEN FIRE!” His rocket launcher sent a lovely billet-doux towards the enemy, and belched a smoke cloud onto the rest of the team. The projectile hit home, but it only took a second before Demoman could see that it had just destroyed the left side's landing gear. Cursing, Soldier started to line up another shot.

The BLU team wasn't going to take this lying down, though. Just as Heavy started spinning up his minigun and trying to angle it skywards, the chopper's door slid open, and a mounted machine-gun poked its nose out to greet the mercenaries. The trees only protected Demoman and his teammates as far as obscuring their position from people above. The rising smoke from Soldier's rocket launcher was like a big, red bullseye. Lead death rained down on the REDs.

Engineer yelped in pain as he and his half-built sentry were strafed. The rest of the team scrambled for cover as the enemy shot blindly down through the trees. Heavy couldn't move himself fast enough and took some hits as a result. The big man roared and hefted Sasha's barrel upwards, then returned fire. While the helicopter weaved overhead, Medic pulled himself out of the mud and hurried back to his teammates, turning his Medi-gun on the wounded Texan first. Everyone knew a couple bullet wounds would just make Heavy more dangerous.

Demoman was unscathed. He clambered through the foliage until he was clear of the targeted area, then glared up at the helicopter. It had moved past the RED team, but he could see that it was circling back around. From somewhere behind him, he heard Soldier launch another rocket, but this one missed the turning vehicle and went whistling off into the distance.

“Looks like they're comin' for another pass at us!” Demoman shouted, readying his grenade launcher. Although he wasn't sure if he'd be able to hit it, he was sure as hell going to try. The chopper had definitely dropped closer to the treetops since it was damaged. (The bastards probably want to take a better shot this time.)

To his surprise, the BLU's aircraft took a steep dive and leveled out just before it touched down, skidding to a stop in the mud roughly fifty yards from the REDs. He was thrilled with this turn of events. Holding his position amongst the trees and watching the enemy team begin their charge, one face in the crowd stood out to Demoman. A word formed silently on his lips. It was one that filled him with rage some days, or left him wound-up in lonely regret on others. He didn't say it out loud, but as the thought lingered, he growled, "Trai-tor-i-ous son of a hoor... It'd be you they send out here, woul'n't it? Ah'll give what's comin' to ye, mark my words."

Demoman heard footsteps in the undergrowth. Heavy and Medic had come up alongside him, and the huge Russian's mini-TAT was already spinning and ready to unleash hell. Taking a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw that Pyro was keeping close to Engineer as the little guy scrambled to salvage the destroyed turret and make something useful from its remains. Soldier had lingered at Engineer's side, but he was beginning to move up just now, eyeballing the incoming BLU horde.

The older American's lips curled back in a dangerous grin. "Alright, boys. Here's the game plan: if they haven't spotted us by the time they're at... oh, about mid-range... let 'em have it. If they find us out before then, me and the Scot will split off in either direction, and it'll be business as usual."

"Makes enough sense tae me, mate. ...steady, they're definitely lookin' fer us." True to Demoman's warning, the BLU team had slowed their advance a little, their eyes darting back and forth as they searched the trees and bushes alongside the road. It seemed like they might actually blunder right on past without even noticing the muddy RED mercenaries, but as the BLU Scout scurried into the danger zone, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and pointed at the roadside.

“Whoa, holy shit, we got-” The young man's eyes were wide with shock, but he only started considering evasive maneuvers too late – his warning to the rest of the BLUs was cut off by Soldier, who scattered his body to the four winds with a rocket strike.

It was on.

With no reason to be subtle anymore, Heavy bellowed, “You are all DEAD!” Sasha spoke too, but her voice was a rumbling purr, and her words were more than threats. The BLUs scattered towards either side of the road, except for their soldier – Jane - who launched himself into a spectacular battle-charge.

Trailing smoke in an arc behind him, Jane flew through the air and came crashing down on RED Pyro, who gave a muffled squeak. He gripped his launcher with one hand, then pulled out his trench shovel with the other and took a swing at RED Engineer; the Texan ducked behind the sentry he was trying to cobble back together, cursing. Before the BLU soldier could tangle further with his diminutive foe, RED Pyro weakly reached up from his place on the ground, then shot a flare up the back of Jane's coat. He burst into flames, screaming incoherently about the fact that he was now on fire.

Demoman's first instinct was to have a visit with his “old friend” - the kind of visit involving explosives and maybe some angry words – but the BLU Heavy-Medic group was making themselves a dangerous inconvenience to everyone on the RED team. Putting aside his plans to duke it out with Jane, Tavish lobbed a couple of grenades towards the blue-clad Heavy, then dove behind some bushes as his foe's minigun traced a line across his chest.

“Ugh, good thing he were nae any closer t'me. This's gonna leave a hell of a bruise,” he groaned, clutching at his ribs. The first swath of bullets hadn't penetrated his armor, but Demoman knew it wouldn't hold out against that kind of punishment forever. As it was, he felt like he'd been run over by a motorbike. The grenades went off, and he peered through the foliage to see how much damage he'd done.

BLU Heavy was roaring angrily as he hosed-down the RED side with hot lead. Behind him, a little guy in blue overalls was hastily erecting a dispenser, but their medic was nowhere to be seen. Then Tavish spotted a sleeve attached to a blue glove at one end, and nothing else on the other; it was clear that the BLUs were now fighting without a doctor.

Tavish glanced over his shoulder to see how Pyro and Engineer were holding out. It was just then that the bush he was using for cover exploded. As splinters and bits of metal tore through his left ear and cheek, the RED Demoman howled and looked back to the fore, lifting his launcher. His BLU counterpart was there, grinning fiendishly and closing in on him.

“What sorta Highland Demoman would be found cowerin' in the hedge like a bleedin' pheasant?! You're a damned disgrace to our kind, ye RED pillock!” BLU Demoman then started to reload his own launcher, and cackled gleefully.

“What sorta Highland Demoman starts prattlin' away at the enemy while 'is weapon's run dry?” The injured Scotsman was half-kneeling in the mud, but he still had a couple rounds left in his launcher. After BLU Demoman realized his grave error, Tavish lobbed him a trio of frag grenades. The first one missed, but in scrambling to avoid it, he twisted his ankle in the mud and was struck by the other two bombs.

Splashes of blood and flying limbs always brightened Demoman's day, particularly when he was the one responsible for them. He pulled himself to his feet and glanced over in time to see Jane decapitating RED Pyro with his shovel. Anger flared up in Demoman's throat, and the world seemed to slow to a molasses speed as he took in the battlefield around him one last time. There was no question that he was going after the BLU team's soldier next, but on some level, he knew he should check and see how many of his allies still lived.

Heavy was pin-cushioned with arrows, doubtlessly the work of the BLU Sniper. He was still alive and shooting, though, while providing a meat wall to shelter Medic. The focus of his rage was the enemy heavy weapons operator, a man equally massive and well-armed. Behind BLU Heavy was a dispenser, and BLU Engineer, who was working frantically to keep his machine up and running. The RED team's Engineer had given up on building in this hectic environment; Demoman spied him and Soldier on the other side of the road, crouched against the rusted hulk of an old Jeep. Engie's hard-hat was gone. His face and head were bloody, but Demoman couldn't tell where his injury was, let alone how bad it might be. An arrow drifted past their hiding place - BLU Sniper making himself known, no doubt. Beside the lofty marksman, a man with an anxious posture and a gas-mask was brandishing his flamethrower. One of Solly's rockets came screaming towards BLU Pyro, who emitted a muffled yelp and deflected it into the trees with an air-burst.

That left Demoman to pair off with the enemy of his choice. “God help me,” Tavish murmured, slinging the launcher across his back. Then he brandished his faithful Pain Train and charged at Jane.

The BLU team's Soldier was taking a pause to lift Pyro's severed head up out of the mud. If the Scotsman's battle-scream didn't get Jane's attention, his beatstick certainly did; he ducked low and took a powerful swing at the back of the American's knee. BLU Soldier whooped in surprise and staggered, turning just in time to take another blow to the wrist. Enraged, he hurled the decapitated head at Tavish, then hobbled backwards through the mud to put some distance between them. The man's trench-digging shovel was now doubling as a cane.

“JUMPING A MAN FROM BEHIND?! You will fight me like a REAL SOLDIER, TAVISH!” Jane's toothy grimace flashed below the rim of his helmet, spewing insults and flecks of saliva in equal measure. Still leaning on his shovel, he seemed to realize that his RPG couldn't be used one-handed, and rooted clumsily through his pack until he found a shotgun. While he worked to prop it against his hip, Demoman started towards him, leaving the severed noggin behind. Seconds later, it vanished along with the rest of Pyro.

“All's fair in love and war, mate. Ye should be grateful ah didn't just blow ye to bits! That would've ended things real quick.” Demoman grinned, brandishing his club and considering where to use it next. Even though their friendship had become a feud, then simmered down to a rivalry that went up and beyond the requirements of their employers, the two men afforded each other certain privileges when facing off in the battlefield – namely, the chance to fight back. Tavish didn't know how Jane saw it, but to him, it was the closest he could get to an apology.

The American growled irritably, taking a shot at Demoman. It missed. As burly as BLU Soldier was, he just wasn't big enough to use a shotgun with one hand. He cursed and flipped it around, then suddenly lurched forwards and swung the shotgun's butt at his enemy, swatting the Pain Train out of his grasp. Tavish had a moment to stare in surprise, before Jane clobbered him over the head and his view of the world turned to stars. Dazed, he scrambled away and fumbled through the bushes for his weapon. As the enemy limped after him in pursuit, he could hear foliage rustling, and further off, the chaos of a battle in full swing.

“How d'you like that, you Scotch son of a bitch?! I'll teach you to get the drop on me!” Jane whaled on him with the shotgun until he found his weapon, and raised it to block the incoming attacks; although his armor dulled the impact of the blows, it was no less vexing. As he looked up again, it was apparent that the Soldier had recovered a little from being hobbled. He seemed to be trying to decide if his shovel was really a better melee weapon than the gun.

“Yer doin' a fine job of educatin' me so far. Now here, Ah've got a lesson for you: shovels belong in the garden or the graveyard, not the battlefield!” Demoman took an idle swing at the shovel, and Soldier fell for it, turning his attention to defensive maneuvers with the entrenching tool. Then the Scotsman lunged for his real target: the other man's shotgun.

Its barrel was a bit too thick to grab securely, and when BLU Soldier saw Demoman's hand near the trigger, he released the gun like it was on fire, and hustled around to his enemy's blind side. “Don't you dare shoot! This was supposed to be hand-to-hand combat!”

“Ah never said that, you oaf, I was jes' givin' you a fair chance te fight back,” Demoman drawled, turning to get the American back in view. He was already tired of this game, tired of facing off with Jane, tired of playing 'ring around the rosie' with him. The shotgun would bring an end to things, as soon as the soldier stopped running circles around him. Brimming with impatience, he turned the other way and was suddenly face-to-face with Jane.

BLU Soldier bristled, and smashed that troublesome shovel against the left side of his face. "I don't need your 'fair chances', Goddammit! My superior fighting skills are enough to-"

A bloodcurdling scream caught Tavish's notice, and he glanced over out of reflex. It wouldn't have been unusual if not for the fact that he didn't recognize the sound of it. The other man's attention was diverted as well, which was probably for the best - otherwise, he probably would have exploited the distraction to beat Demoman senseless. They both stared as a third soldier came flying out of the jungle, and landed in the midst of the other combatants.

He was armed with a rectangular, black beast of a rocket launcher. Something clearly not standard issue. He wore a RED soldier's uniform, bearing a small gold insignia on the left breast: an eagle, clutching a branch in its talons. The coat was showing signs of how much time its owner had spent in the jungle. It was not red anymore, so much as deeply stained, and scored with innumerable tears from traversing the rough terrain. His helmet was similarly dirty, and covered with netting into which bits of foliage had been incorporated. It was camouflage, just like his dark green face-paint. “YOU RAGGEDY-ASSED LITTLE PUKES ARE TAKING TOO LONG TO DIE!” the newcomer barked, then started a bloody chain reaction across the battlefield.

Perhaps it was because they had been engaged in a standoff, rather than actively brawling, that Tavish and Jane were the only ones to stop and watch him. That was about to change. The instant he was on the ground, the renegade soldier took aim at Medic, who among the REDs was responsible for maintaining a stalemate between the two groups. Medic didn't see his demise coming. Nor did his Heavy, but the big Russian - who had run out of ammunition for Sasha, and was reduced to pelting his distant opponent with a shotgun - definitely felt the nearby explosion, and the difference it made after his healer was gone. Enraged and under fire from BLU Heavy, he turned to face Medic's attacker, but was mowed down before he could try to avenge his close friend.

This turn of events came as a surprise to the BLU Heavy and Engineer, who took a moment to realize that the Soldier responsible wasn't their teammate. He had already turned his sights on them, and a moment later, he reduced BLU Engineer to an exploded mess, along with the dispenser that had been keeping BLU Heavy alive and his mini-TAT loaded. The rogue mercenary was farther from him than the two REDs had been, and his gun didn't do much more than slow him down as he tried to dodge incoming rockets.

Demoman stared on as the enemy team's Heavy became a scattered heap of blood, guts and bone meal. Beside him, Jane snapped, "What the hell is going on?! I wasn't told we'd be fighting two RED teams this time!"

He glared at the blue-clad soldier. "You're askin' the wrong person. ...hold up, wasn't your group shot down the other day?"

Jane gave an angry snort. "What kind of a stupid-assed question is—YES, our first transport was shot down by you bastards. Do you know the mad rush we were the rest of the day, just getting back here?"

"It weren't us who did that. We sent two of our lads out yesterday morning. They spotted your chopper on the way in, before they also got blasted out o' the sky." Demoman's gaze flickered back to the fight, and he swapped out Jane's shotgun for his launcher, hastening to reload it. Still frowning, he added, "There's other people on this island. I dinnae know when they got here, or what it is they're after, but it's pretty clear they're not keen on sharin' it with anyone else."

The BLU soldier rubbed his chin, then grumbled thoughtfully to himself as he shouldered his rocket launcher. "I'll bet that crazy bastard never gave up on the fight for this godforsaken jungle. Maybe he didn't even leave when the rest of us did. He could've been staking out the island for the last two years, just waiting for us to come back and try to take it away from him..."

"Ye've been here before?!" Tavish had been preparing to bombard the renegade while his back was turned, but Jane's muttering threw off his concentration. It had answered a few questions that were on the Scotsman's mind, and raised even more. He tried to focus on taking aim, but was suddenly worried he might hit his remaining friends. (How far are they from where he's standing?)

The camouflaged Soldier had reloaded his Black Box and was angling for the other REDs, but Jane's teammates were none too pleased at the loss of their Heavy, and they sent him a barrage of flaming arrows as payback. All the mud caked into his trench coat made him flame-retardant, but didn't do much to protect him from sharp projectiles. Smoldering and bleeding from the arrows that had struck him, he directed his rage at BLU Sniper and Pyro instead. He fired on the Australian, who was more dangerous at long range, but BLU Sniper lunged towards his teammate and left the rocket flying off into oblivion.

By this point the remaining Engineer had noticed what was happening, and started struggling clumsily to reload his shotgun. RED Soldier, on the other hand, was clueless as always. Instead of pausing to wonder who his targets had turned to shoot at, he took advantage of the distraction and launched another high explosive towards them, screaming at the top of his lungs. With the two BLUs now bunched together, one shot was enough to finish them off. He was still cackling triumphantly when Engineer finally got his attention, amidst a desperate attempt to gun down the rogue mercenary.

Demoman could hear the Texan shouting, “Dammit, we've gotta kill that guy!” RED Soldier snapped around, hesitated, then scrambled to reload the empty launcher.

He couldn't tell whether or not Engineer was doing much damage, but having already lost Medic and Heavy, Tavish realized that he had to do something before he was out of allies. Cursing himself for neglecting to bring along a more powerful (albeit heavier) melee weapon, he shot a grenade towards the strange Soldier. It fell short of its mark and got stuck in the mud, then exploded. Demoman groaned, then snarled, “What the hell're ye waitin' for, Jane?! Get him!”

Jane had been holding back, possibly with the intention of letting all his enemies take care of each other, but Demoman's words finally spurred him to action. “Alright, alright,” he grunted, and took aim at the maverick. They had lost the element of surprise, though. Jane's target glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the rocket launcher's business end, then threw himself to the ground just as BLU Soldier pulled the trigger.

The missile flew straight over its intended victim and struck the dilapidated Jeep, which the other REDs had been using for cover. There was an explosion and a burst of rusty shrapnel, followed by a rumbling crash. Weakened by the recent rainfall, it had only required an extra push to collapse that section of the embankment. As Scout had discovered hours ago, much of the road ran along steep ravine on the north side. It was into this deep gulch that the rusty car, the men, and a large quantity of muddy gravel now tumbled.

As the smoke cleared, Tavish and Jane stared. For all intents and purposes, it looked like part of the roadside had simply ceased to exist, along with Demoman's teammates. (How could that happen? There's nothing left... I can't believe one rocket would have done so much damage.) He couldn't bring himself to blame the BLU mercenary. And yet... even though sudden and ghastly deaths were a common experience for Demoman and his cohorts, he felt oddly stricken by this accident. (I was standing around, watching them swap c-rations only a couple minutes ago. Fuck it! I have to keep fighting. It's up to me!)

The renegade Soldier was rising from the mud like a B-movie monster, glaring out from under his tilted helmet with piercing blue eyes. Beside Demoman, the last BLU fighter gritted his teeth audibly, and muttered, “Dammit, boys...”

Now it was down to a two-on-one battle, and neither Jane nor Tavish seemed optimistic about their odds of winning.

Mud, blood and guts - I am enjoying this thoroughly.

Damn, that was exciting! I adore this fic. Action isn't something you see a lot of fic about. You write it extremely well.

Great chapter!

Besides the good old Red Demo-BLU Soldier love/hate relationship, the thing I loved the most is that the two teams were evenly matched.

Usually, when I read an action scene in a TF2 story, it's one team kicking the other team's ass. Having no special preference for either team in particular (well, ok, I tend to prefer playing with the BLU team, because my favourite hat is painted pink and pink looks better with blue than it does with red. I'M DEEPLY MOTIVATED!), the blatant mischaracterization of one team as a bunch of incompetents really rubs me off the wrong way.

So I was happy to see both teams kick ass here, and happy to see that the two survivors were a RED and a BLU.

I'm also glad that the helicopter wasn't shot down. Technically they are all paid mercenaries for a military organization, but the pilot is the only one without Rewpawn, and it would have kind of left a bad taste in my mouth if they had killed him/her. Especially considering that that other lady pilot made such a good impression.

I realize most people probably don't even notice or care about this kind of tedious concern with details.

Pff. You think you are overly-concerned with details? Please!

Remember this line?

Spy reeled about and staggered down to join his teammates

I kept wondering "wait, his teammates? Was that just a slip, or a simple synonym for "ally", or is the author cleverly hinting that BLU Spy and the two REDs have been getting emotionally closer despite being on opposite teams? [strike]Can I look forward to BLU Spy joining the smexy action with RED Sniper and possibly RED Spy too or is that wishful thinking? I'm being an irrational horny fangirl, aren't I?[/strike]

I'm the mothereffing QUEEN of the mighty Queendom Of Getting Fixed On Details ;P

Thanks, guys! Writing this was kind of nerve-wracking for me; it's easy for me to write a relaxed slice-of-life kinda scene where two or three people are sitting around talking, because I can come out reasonably confident that when people read it, they'll know what just happened and where everyone involved is at the end. A battle scene is something I wanted to write (and in this story, knew I'd have to write eventually)- I mean, hell, the actual game is nothing but battle scenes- and I was gnawing my figurative fingernails down to stubs, wondering if anyone else would be able to follow what I was trying to describe. "Three soldiers in one scene" was a particularly daunting challenge for me. I ran this one past my hunch-backed lab assistant Yang, my beta reader D.F. 38, and then Yang again, and I was still nervous about actually posting it.

So, uh, in conclusion: I'm glad you enjoyed it!

>>78 I really like all of the characters a lot, and I think Demoman doesn't get enough love, so one of my goals with this story was giving him some airtime. Shipteasing with RED Demo and BLU Solly was extra motivation for me. ♥

In stories, I've seen one or the other depicted as depraved rape-crazed sadists, or just plain uncooperative incompetents who should probably be fired. Personally, I don't see one team being the "good guys" and one being the "bad guys"; going by the videos, one could say the REDs are supposed to be the heroes, and it just seems that the BLUs are sort of unlucky. Since it just doesn't make sense to me that one team would be incompetent - if they always lost, their employers would replace them - I tried to make it look like they were evenly matched, more or less.

As for upcoming porn scenes... well, you'll have to wait and see. The setting has made it unfeasible for me to work in as much smut as I might have liked, so I've been considering writing some asides, or maybe epilogues, of the porn variety.

If I may make a suggestion...

If you believe that smut doesn't work in the context of this story, then much as I love it, it would probably be a very bad idea to force it into the story. I love cheesecake, but putting cheesecake in a stew would be a very bad idea, it just doesn't belong there ;)

But. Have you considered world-building?

You have already written a long fic that introduced your world rules (how Respawn works, how the RED and BLU Companies work with multiple teams and missions all over the world, etc etc), your characters (both OCs, like Canadian BLU Spy, and personal interpretations of official characters), and their relationships with each other. And now you have another on-going fic that is further expanding and developing them.

So why don't you just continue and finish Our Lost Kingdoms smut-free, if you feel that that would be the best for this particular story, and then use the established universe as your playground to write all kinds of further stories? Not just epilogues or asides, but actual expansions and branching out, of whatever genre and rating and with whatever protagonists you feel like writing about at the time. You could play around with them however you want: some fics could be long and dramatic, others could be short and fluffy, others yet could be kinky PWP.

You already write your stories in different first-person POVs, and your two fics are of completely different genres. Add in the fact that your fics are so good, I have no doubt that you could pull it off.

The battle is going to continue, of course, but that kind of difficult writing wears me out. So in the meantime, let's have a Helmet Party break, and see how things are going for Engineer and Soldier...

>>80 Eh, it'll all depend on whether or not my mojo keeps up. There's loads of things I'd like to draw and write, but I need creative energy to do it, unfortunately... I don't want to start things I may not be able to finish. :(
____________________________

The conflict between Tavish, Jane, and the maverick soldier had taken them away from the battle-scarred stretch of road where they first ran afoul of each other. It was at some point after which they were out of earshot, that Tavish's comrades - who he had last seen vanishing amidst a terrifying explosion - began to regain consciousness.

The passage of time was an uncertain thing for RED Engineer, as he lay in a dark, wet, painful place. He tried to take stock of his situation, starting with his physical state. (I’m cold... body hurts all over. Upside-down. ...have I been injured? Don’t think any of my bones are broken...) Squinting in the darkness, he tensed both of his hands and found they could move normally - even the robotic one. He could still feel his toes, but something heavy was pinning his legs where they were. (Cave-in?) he thought, then frowned. (No. No, we weren’t in a cave. We had been fighting the BLUs, I remember now. On the road leading to that plantation. They came after us in a helicopter, and...) Engineer groaned and clutched his head for a moment, hand clamping down over what remained of his headset—the visor. He remembered being strafed by the BLU team’s transport, but his memory of the battle became less clear from that point on.

Determined not to let himself languish, the little guy pried off the dark lenses he was wearing, and suddenly his position was much easier to understand. He was lying upside-down on the undercarriage of a car, which was also upside down and tilted at a steep angle. His head almost touched the rear axle, while his legs stretched up above him, knees bent over the front fender. Everything was surrounded by an aggregate of mud, gravel and foliage. Even from his awkward position, he could see the car was embedded in a hillside of debris. The heavy, wet gravel was heaped over his lower legs, and kept him hanging where he was.

“Well, shoot.” Engineer groaned and stretched a little, then took a deep breath, and performed the most uncomfortable sit-up he’d experienced since his first day of basic, back when he was first hired on by RED. He’d been pretty good about maintaining his fitness since then, but he was feeling pretty stiff and sore after... (After what? How in the hell did I wind up like this, hanging upside-down at the bottom of a mudslide, in the middle of some kind of jungle warzone?) Either way, he managed to bend up double so he was clutching his knees, and took a moment’s pause as the blood finally had a chance to drain from his head.

“Ohhhh... This’s a real pickle I’m in, ain’t it?” As the veil of darkness lifted from his eyes and he no longer felt as though he might faint, Engineer sighed and reached into the heap of gravel, which covered his legs from the knees down. With his mechanical right hand, he clawed blindly amongst the muddy debris until he found the ruined car’s fender, then latched onto it with an iron grasp. This made him feel a little more secure, and free to dig out his legs with the other hand. It was with a great sense of relief that he finally got a look at them, and verified beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were intact.

Now, his job was to figure out how to get down safely, and locate his teammates. “If there’s anyone left,” he muttered. “Good Lord, am I the only one who survived all that?“ As he brooded over the situation, Engineer took a better look at his surroundings.

He was at the bottom of a deep ravine with steep inclines to either side, one freshly coated by a landslide of gravel, the other embroidered with greenery of all kinds. Unbelievably tall palms grew up from the bottom of the gulch, as well as both hillsides. Shorter trees had sprung vines and roots in both directions, as though they were doubly determined to choke out the palms at ground and canopy level. As Engineer looked more closely at the vale’s floor, he realized there was a concrete trough running its entire length. Although foliage obscured his view in either direction, he assumed it was a drainage channel. “I’ll bet the whole compound drains out into this thing. ...probably could get there if I follow it in that direction...”

The rusted-out Jeep that had fallen down the landslide with him was at the bottom of the ravine. It had come to rest just before the lip of the concrete gutter, and after a moment of stretching and wriggling, Engineer dropped off the car and onto the ground. The landslide had filled a portion of the channel with gravel, but Engineer was far too busy to worry about digging it out.

He had to see if anyone else was around. “Sarge,” he gasped, recalling more of those fateful moments before he blacked out. “We were together, usin’ that rust-bucket for cover. Musta been hit by a rocket...” Frantically looking around the gloomy, overgrown ravine, Engineer took a shaky breath and raised his voice. “You there, Sarge?! Sarge! Can ya hear me?”

As Engineer began hunting through the debris, he found his toolbox and pieces of the destroyed sentry he’d been working on, all embedded in material from the landslide. His heart clenched. In his mind’s eye, he could see his friend slowly dying of cold and suffocation, body broken and twisted under hundreds of pounds of that loose, muddy gravel. (He’s buried under the landslide, I just know it. There’s nowhere else he could be. Buried alive...) The horrible scenario took hold of Engineer’s mind and filled him with an overwhelming sense of anguish. Part of him wanted to collapse into the dirt and give up. Call off the dogs, go back home, surrender their futile mission. Grimacing, Engineer dug his metal claws into a tree trunk and gave a shuddering sigh. Deep down, somewhere under the pain and despair he was feeling, he knew that he still had work to do. It was a cold comfort for him now, but it was something he could hold onto, something to keep him going. In a cracked voice, he gave one last cry. “Sarge..?”

From somewhere behind him, there was a wet, sputtering cough. His heart skipped a beat. He whirled around and scrambled over hillocks of debris, following that sound. A half-buried mangrove root snagged one of his boots, and Engineer went tumbling into the concrete trough. Down amongst cold, mucky water and heaps of fresh dirt, he discovered his tattered Soldier lying on his side under a clump of uprooted bushes.

The older man was breathing. Engineer grasped his shoulder and patted him, then whispered. “You awake there, Sarge? Can y’hear me?” As Engineer talked, he pushed the foliage away and began to examine his teammate. He had avoided burial of any degree, and his whole body showed signs of mobility, which meant his back hadn’t been broken in the fall. Soldier’s pants were torn and blood-stained above the knees, though. This warranted a closer examination. Getting him out of the ditch would be Engineer’s first priority.

“Nngh... dammit, can’t hear that bitch over th’ P.A... we lose the match, private?” Soldier groaned and grumbled, clawing weakly at the muck as though seeking purchase, or perhaps something to hold. Engineer leaned over and slid his hands beneath Soldier, then grabbed him under the arms and lifted him up. His response was immediate and powerful. He wrapped his burly arms across Engineer’s back and clung to the little guy.

With a grunt of effort, Engineer summoned all of his strength and hauled Soldier up off his feet. After an awkward moment where he was unsure how to proceed with this operation, he turned his backside to one side of the channel and sat on the trough’s concrete lip. As he did so, he pulled Soldier on top of himself. Once they were out, Engineer groaned and flopped onto his back, feeling exhausted. His teammate went down with him, and for a few moments he just lay there underneath Soldier, feeling the man’s breath on his cheek. (If we were doing this in different circumstances, I’m pretty sure I’d be getting a hard-on right about now.)

Engineer was sore and stiff in different places, and he knew his friend was injured. He rubbed Soldier’s back to get his attention, and softly spoke. “Alright, Sarge. I’m gonna roll you over now. Gotta take a look at you ‘n see how bad your legs are. You ready?”

Although he had been quiet up until now and was barely moving, Soldier’s awareness seemed to have returned to him. He nodded a bit, and grunted, “Affirmative. Don’t think they’re broken, but I’m not-” Soldier’s face went chalk-white for a moment as he was repositioned, and he bit down hard on his lip, no doubt doing his utmost not to show any signs of pain. Once he was settled down, he took a deep breath, then found his voice again. “—I’m not sure. Maybe, uhh... maybe we oughta take a look at them, just in case. Marching with broken legs is—well, it’s more complicated than—”

As Engineer cut away the fabric between Soldier’s thighs and shins, the older American grit his teeth audibly. Both of his legs were heavily bruised, particularly above the knee. There weren’t any outward signs of breakage on the left leg, but the other one was a nauseating sight for Engineer; his teammate was clearly suffering a fractured femur, part of which was protruding through a jagged tear in the meaty flesh of his right thigh.

In a choked voice, the Texan muttered, “This don’t look good. Not good at all.” He realized that Soldier had been watching him over the course of the impromptu medical exam, assessing the severity of the wounds by Engineer’s reaction to them. Struggling not to throw up his c-rations, he put a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Ah might be able to fix you up, but I’ll need some time. Probably hafta take a walk over yonder, see if I can scavenge parts from the sentry tower you shot down.”

Soldier’s heavy brow creased, giving him a troubled appearance. He clasped one of his hands tightly over Engineer’s and sighed, stifling a groan. “If you think this is the best course of action, then...rgh, then do it, Engie. I’m not leaving this damn fight! Not…not yet.”

Engineer nodded, and it took all his strength to hold back burning tears. He was both joyful to still have a friend nearby after that massacre, but devastated to see how much pain that friend was in. Soldier could put on a face braver than any of his teammates, even when horribly mutilated, but Engineer knew him well enough to recognize that he was in terrible agony. Even while he was encouraging the mechanic to jury-rig a healing unit, there was an unspoken thought the two shared: It would be easier to let respawn take care of things, better to- (No. No, I can’t... If he wants to keep hanging on here, I'm going to help him. I have to.)

“I’ll be quick as I can, Sarge,” he said. His voice was low and gentle, and he squeezed the older American’s shoulder reassuringly. “You just hang in there, and I’ll do everything I can.”

“I’m counting on you, Private. I’ll sit tight, and- ngh... and keep watch on our encampment.” Soldier’s face was stoic, but the tightness of his grasp betrayed him; the only thing worse than death was the anticipation of it. He knew that without the Engineer’s help, he would suffer at the bottom of the ravine for days, before exposure or blood poisoning surrendered him to the respawn system. After a long moment, Soldier reluctantly drew his hand away and nodded a bit. “...watch your back out there.”

The Texan managed a wan smile. “Ah'll be back before you know it, buddy. Promise.” Then he turned and walked off through the undergrowth, trying to ignore the erratic palpitations in his heart, and stay focused.

Here's hoping your mojo continues to run strong, because I am really enjoying this.

I don't know why I wasn't reading this story earlier. I kept closing the door on its severed head, saying, "Later."
But now...
I will bake your mojo cookies to keep it strong.

I am ashamed of myself for waiting so long to read this story, and all I can say now is that I am extraordinarily happy that I finally have. I'm loving the adventure, the suspense, the intrigue...the writing is wonderful, and really pulls me in and makes me feel like I'm there with the characters. And of course, focus on Demoman especially is really my cup of tea.

I just have two minor complaints.

One is Medic's earlier call for help - in German, sie and Sie are two different pronouns, and the formal command form you're using here requires the capitalized Sie. Minor nitpick, but it doesn't make sense with sie. (Maybe it was just an accidental lack of capitalization, in which case, I'm sorry for the drawn out explanation!)

The other thing that kind of bothers me is the constant referring to Engineer as "little guy." Perhaps it's just me, but it sort of seems...for lack of a better word, a condescending way to refer to him. Something about it just rubs me the wrong way.

Take that with a grain of salt, though! It in no way discourages my love for this story, and I cannot wait for the next installment.

Hehe... trust me, if I had a way to get inspiration whenever I wanted, I'd do a lot more drawing and writing. For now, I'm at least able to keep chugging along on this story, and I'm glad it's entertaining.

>>84 All I know about German is from online phrase sites. I did see the word was capitalized, and uncapitalized it since it was in the middle of a sentence and I didn't know the difference. So, uh, oops.

As for your other complaint, I guess I just think of him as cute and little, since he's significantly shorter than the next-tallest person on the team. In my ongoing search for different ways to describe each character in a cast of 9 adult males, that just became one of the ones I started using for him. I didn't know it bothered anyone...

Anyways! On with the show. Some of these installments might be a bit shorter for a while; I'm trying to rebuild my backlog of story to post. Ack. So have some more helmets. The party will get started eventually, guide's honour.
___________________________________________

Miraculously, Engineer’s toolbox hadn’t opened up during the landslide. It didn’t take long for him to dig it out. Its contents were shaken, but undamaged for the most part. “That’s what you get for usin’ the best there is,” he murmured, smiling a little. The remains of his sentry were scattered far and wide, but the most important component— the Australium-laced circuit board—was seriously damaged. “...it’d take hours for me to solder those wires back together. Might hafta make do with that anyhow, if I can’t find somethin’ better.” He put it in with his tools, then lugged the toolbox across the channel and set it down in plain sight. The chances of anyone finding it were nil, so he wasn’t too worried about theft.

Engineer was still sore from his ride into the ravine, but none of his injuries were too serious. Even the bloody laceration the BLU soldier gave him was little more than a scratch, and had long since stopped bleeding. All in all, he was in good enough shape to pursue his next, more dubious goal: to find the sentry tower that Soldier had destroyed before the battle. Wishing that he’d brought a pair of gumboots, the Texan crawled down into the drainage channel and slogged along. About a hundred yards down the ravine, Engineer wriggled his way between some fallen palm trees and found the thing he had been looking for.

Soldier’s rocket barrage had destroyed a lot of trees and bushes, but the embankment alongside that stretch of road was sturdier than in the area where they’d clashed with the BLUs. Most of the palms were still up by the road, or hanging down the incline by their roots. Only a few scorched trunks had actually been thrown into the gulch below. They were just innocent bystanders. The real target in Soldier’s rain of high-explosive destruction had been a suspected sentry tower. It had been blasted clear of its foundations and thrown into the ravine, right where Engineer was hoping to find it.

After all the fun he’d had so far today, this turn of events was almost enough to make him cry tears of joy. Engineer gleefully flung his rubber glove aside, then set to work on the sentry’s outer casing with the Gunslinger; undoing fasteners, screws, and even ripping apart shoddy wielding, he laid the machine’s inner workings bare.

Engineer went straight for the manufacturing module, where he was hoping to find an intact Australium circuit board. It was the nigh-mythic metal that gave sentries their never-ending ammunition, just as it was Australium that made dispensers a limitless source of supplies in the battlefield. The metal was invaluable because of its alchemical powers, and even a certified genius could only begin to understand the ways it could transform, and catalyze other matter exposed to it.

If Engineer wanted to cobble together a dispenser’s healing unit, he’d need Australium to do it.

Although he wasn’t the man who invented the Medi-gun, Engineer had studied the device in great detail. A dispenser’s healing system was based on the unit that Medic carried into every battle. It emitted streams of healing plasma, the same luminous, gassy rays that Medic bathed his patients in. Although it was no replacement for a real field doctor, a dispenser could mend broken bones and heal torn flesh.

“I’ll just hafta set the bone so’s he’ll be able to walk normally once it’s mended. Simple as that.” Engineer mumbled to himself as he worked, opening the sentry’s manufacturing module, then carefully removing the precious parts he needed. Once he had what he came for, the little guy grabbed the module’s casing as well, just so he’d have a body for the buckshee dispenser.

Hoping there wasn’t something he’d missed, Engineer secured the salvaged circuit board, and started back to where he’d left his toolbox. High overhead, he could hear the canopy rustle from an afternoon breeze, but the air down in the gulch was still and muggy. Once he retrieved his toolbox as well, he made the final push back to where Soldier was languishing.



The second he arrived, Engineer put down the toolbox and hurried over to Soldier’s side, kneeling down and grasping the other man’s shoulder with a shaky hand. “You still with us, Sarge?” He looked over Soldier’s burly body, checking for any signs that his condition had changed.

“Haven’t moved an inch,” Soldier muttered, opening his eyes at the sound of Engineer’s voice. He was red in the face and sweating profusely in the steamy air, which probably didn’t do much for his comfort. Worse, flies were gathering curiously around his open wound. A shudder of revulsion ran down the Texan’s spine. Now steak was ruined for him, too. Great.

“I- I’m gonna start workin’ on that machine in a minute, but I think I better take a break and see if I can’t help you out over here.” Reaching into one of his overalls’ deep pockets, Engineer pulled out a strange flask, silvery in color and cool to the touch, and offered it to Soldier. “You look like you could use a long, cold drink of water.”

Soldier nodded, visibly struggling to keep a stoic face. “I sure could, private. This ditch is like the shower room at the end of a long week. It’s wet, coated in filth, and reeks like ass.” As he spoke, Soldier pushed his helmet aside and shakily wiped the sweat from his brow, then pressed the flask’s cold surface against his forehead.

Engineer scooted around behind Soldier, then tentatively slipped his hands under the man’s shoulder blades. “Mind if I, uh... help you sit up a little? So you don’t end up takin’ any of it down the wrong pipe, I mean.”

If the situation were different, the bigger man probably would have rejected this offer, but deep down he probably knew he was too weak to sit upright on his own. He nodded and grumbled incoherently as the little guy wriggled closer to him. Once he was propped up against his short, stocky teammate, Soldier drank long and slow of the canteen’s ice-cold water. After a few quiet moments, he lowered the canteen and sagged in Engineer’s grasp, gasping for breath. “Thanks Engie, I... I really needed that.”

The Texan smiled gently, reaching up to mop Soldier’s temples with a shirtsleeve. “Just lookin’ out for ya, Sarge. I know you’d do the same for me.”

Soldier chuckled a little, without a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Yeah... I would, wouldn’t I? It’s just us here now, until they ship the rest of the team back from Teufort.”

Engineer took his canteen back for a moment and had a couple gulps of water, then closed it and set it down by Soldier’s hand. “I’d better get workin’ now, before anything gets too interested in your leg, there. Here, why don’t we get you outta that jacket? I can fold it up for you ta rest your head on.”

The older man gave a vague grunt of objection and insisted on wrestling out of the dirty trench-coat on his own, but he let his teammate have it afterwards. After bundling the coat up so the cleanest part was on top, Engineer shifted off to one side and helped Soldier lay back again, wedging the impromptu pillow under his head so at least one part of his body wouldn’t be resting in the dirt. Doing his best to ignore the pain, he drifted off to an uneasy slumber.


The toolbox and metal casing were not far from Soldier, and as Engineer set to work, he felt a little better knowing he had eased his friend’s suffering. The task at hand gave him a chance do what he did best, and forget all the troubles that were hampering this mission, if only for a while. As he cobbled together bits and bobs from the machines he’d salvaged, Engineer’s mind was elevated to the realm of all things technological. Every complication in his plan was not a frustrating setback, but merely a problem to be solved, a challenge to be overcome.

He paused to rub some sweat from his face, and felt his hand bump into something. His night-vision headset, broken during the same accident that sent the two Americans into the ravine. Disappointment gnawed at him for a moment, and he regretted that it would never get to serve its intended purpose. “That’s just dumb luck, I guess... Hell, it ain’t the worst.” Studying his half-finished contraption, he realized the night-vision headset could serve a purpose right now. A quiet little laugh escaped him, and he pulled the device off his head, then set to work stripping down the electro sensory module. “And here I’d been wonderin’ how I was gonna focus that stream of plasma...”



Nightfall was still a few hours away, but it was definitely getting darker down in the gulley. Birds cried out in the trees overhead, and Soldier was snoring and mumbling where he lay. The focused Engineer didn’t hear a thing. Every iota of his consciousness was zeroed in on the machine he was building. His eyes had been adjusting well to the failing light, and it was only after he made his final weld that Engineer realized how much time had passed. He rubbed his eyes and looked around, vaguely anxious that he could have missed some significant change to his surroundings, but everything was as it had been.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Engineer set his tools aside, then started the healing unit on its first real test-run. He’d performed smaller tests of the separate parts while he was assembling it, but he wouldn’t feel safe using it on his teammate before he knew it worked as intended. With no other people in the area, though, he was stuck making himself the subject of his own experiment.

Engineer’s most severe injuries had been healed hours ago by Medic, just after the BLU chopper strafed him. He’d suffered some deep bruises since, but nothing as severe as gunshots. The only obvious cut had been to his scalp, and he had no mirror to examine it now. Still, as the red plume of energy wafted over him and began permeating his body, Engineer started to feel better. Even his joints and muscles, which had been crying out after hours of crouching, were now losing their aches and pains. The Texan rose to his feet and stretched, giving a sigh of relief. He was tempted to cheer or dance for joy, but he knew there was one more bridge for him to cross before he could mend his wounded friend.

He powered the unit down and carried it over to where Soldier was resting. Sitting it on the ground, he kneeled beside the larger man and patted his arm. “Hey there, Sarge. Hate ta wake you up, but I’ve got some good news, and some bad news.”

“Hmmngh... hmm?” Soldier blinked owlishly as he was roused from napping. He still looked pretty hard-done-by, but Engineer’s cold water flask, and the removal of his jacket, had kept him from succumbing to heat exhaustion. “Hit me with it, private.”

“The good news is I’ve cobbled together some parts I was able to scrounge, and we’ve got ourselves a healin’ machine. I dunno how fast it’ll work, but it should be able to get you on your feet again. Now, the bad news. Before I get that thing to work on you, I’m gonna have to set that broken leg you’ve got there. Or- well, get the end of it back inside you, anyhow. Wouldn’t wanna just leave it as it is, or it’ll heal up all crooked, and God knows if it’d be any good for walkin’ on.” Engineer nervously rubbed his teammate’s bicep, more anxious for the procedure ahead than for Soldier’s reaction.

Soldier sighed and hunched his shoulders a little, but the look on his face was as stoic as before. “Pain is just weakness leaving the body! I can stomach anything if it’ll get me back in fighting form, Engie. You just do whatever it is you have to.”

The Texan nodded, hiding his trepidation as best he could. He scooted over to a spot where the machine and the injury were both in arm’s reach, then cracked his knuckles and took a deep breath. “Okay... reckon I’ll hafta hold it in place until it’s knitted itself together. I’m gonna shift your whole leg here, sorta- sorta stretch it out a bit, so the part that’s pokin’ out will get drawn back inside. You want somethin’ to bite down on? This is gonna hurt like a bitch...”

Engineer’s hands hovered over either side of the grisly wound. His wide, blue eyes swiveled nervously to regard Soldier, who frowned and shook his head. “No? Alright. Take a deep breath, then. I’m going in one... two... three.”

Every fiber of Engineer’s being wanted to turn away in revulsion. His mind was incessantly replaying the morning’s gruesome scene, where he saved Medic by manually cramming chunks of viscera back into the poor man’s body. Choking back his reluctance, he gently tugged Soldier’s knee downwards until the jagged stump of femur was drawn back into place, inside of the man’s thigh. He clamped his robotic appendage over the injury, hoping that would be enough to keep the bones aligned, then switched on the healing unit with his free hand.

As the red fumes started to work their magic, Engineer glanced over at Soldier’s face. His expression was twisted with agony, lips drawn back in a teeth-baring grimace, eyebrows furrowed, tears of pain starting from the corners of his tightly closed eyes. The little guy felt a jolt of shame and looked away, feeling his own face turn red. Normal as it was for people to shed tears, Engineer always felt uncomfortable when confronted with the sight of them. He never knew if a crying person would welcome a comforting gesture from him, or lash out in resentment. The only thing worse was being the weeping individual himself.

Engineer groaned faintly and looked back down at Soldier’s damaged leg. Some blood had seeped up between his gloved, robotic fingers, but the torn flesh was mending, the bruises on both legs fading to dull shadows of their former selves. The flashbacks of fumbling with Medic’s innards were fading, too, which was a great relief to Engineer.

Soldier gave a long, shaky exhalation, and gradually relaxed his body as the machine did its thing. At length, he opened his eyes and met with Engineer’s gentle gaze. “My leg’s feeling a lot better now. You’ve pulled off some pretty incredible work on the fly, haven’t you? First patching up the Doc, now me.” He rubbed the moisture from the corners of his eyes, then thumped a fist against his barrel-chest and smiled wearily. “I don’t know where the team would be without you.”

“Hell, Sarge, I knew I couldn’t sit on my duff and wait for everyone else to get back here. I’m just glad I was able to help you... even if it’s gettin’ too late to travel far, it woulda been mighty lonesome, sloggin’ through this jungle alone.” The little guy gave a bashful smile, and reached for his teammate’s shoulder.

In a sudden, surprisingly fast motion, Soldier caught Engineer’s hand in one of his large mitts. Grasping it firmly but gently, he stroked Engineer’s wrist with his thumb. The Texan swallowed audibly, blinking and confused. Soldier’s face was inscrutable, however. In a quiet voice, he said, “No need to be so damned humble about your work ethic, private, there’s nobody else in this unit as devoted to solving problems as you are. I’m not exaggerating when I say you’ve done an amazing job today...Thanks, Engie.”

Engineer could feel his face go red again. While he was hardly ashamed to be such a hard worker, he had always resisted the urge to brag about things, preferring to harbour a private feeling of intellectual superiority. With eleven PhD’s under his belt, there was really no question among the team that he was, by far, the smartest. Or the most dedicated to academia, at any rate.

Still, he often felt scholastic accomplishments didn’t seem to get the credit they deserved. His teammates always engaged in one-upmanship related to violence, after all. So hearing the man who was generally considered the biggest knucklehead on the team – the screaming, lantern-jawed berserker– complimenting his technical prowess, was actually quite gratifying for Engineer. He couldn’t help but grin.

“Anythin’ for you, pardner.”

>>85
German's kind of confusing that way, so no worries! I just am kind of a language geek and German's one of the ones I know.

And yeah, I think it's perfectly understandable to fall back on epithets...you're right; there are nine men on the team, and sometimes referring to them when more than one or two are in a scene is difficult. It's quite possible that this is just a personal bother for me.

Now, onward...more helmets are always a welcome addition in my book. And I enjoy the way you've included Australium and where it fits in to the machines Engineer makes. I really have to agree with Millia; I would love to see more world-building fics following this one, because of the way you've established this universe and the way things (that are only partially explained in canon, or not at all) work.

Looking forward to more!

This post has been deleted.

Blarrgh, I posted the next vignette, then immediately realized I'd fucked up my files somewhere and lost a few tweaks along the way. So here it is again, fixed.

>>86 Yeah, I wish sometimes that more of the characters had (canon) names so I'd have more descriptive titles to fall back on. Writing that battle scene with three soldiers (and two of a lot of other classes) was sort of nerve-wracking.

Here's another shortish update. I haven't forgotten about all the other characters, honest! If I hadn't run out of backlog, I'd probably upload these in longer chunks, but some things take me longer to write than others (especially when there's no booze in the house).
______________________________________

The jury-rigged contraption didn't take long to mend the worst of Soldier's injuries. As he did a few stretches and got re-accustomed to standing on his own two feet, he could feel his strength return. After hours of lying prostrate, suffering through fever-dreams and spectacular, bone-grinding agony, Soldier found himself suddenly in perfect health. The arousing sense of invigoration was something everyone on the team knew well; it always came when extensive, painful or debilitating wounds were reversed by the Medi-gun, or similar technologies.

He felt ready to charge off into the jungle and dismember the first enemy foolish enough to cross his path, so knowing that it would soon be too dark to travel safely was rather frustrating. As Engineer busied himself packing up his toolbox, Soldier took a survey of the area they were in. The collapsed embankment was a troubling sight, but with his mind free from the distraction of terrible pain, Soldier was now capable of piecing together the events that had lead to his awakening in a concrete stream-bed.

“Did you see my backpack while you were picking through that mess, private?” he asked, scanning the foliage for his precious belongings.

Engineer glanced over his shoulder for a moment, frowning pensively. “Mighta' been near the spot my toolbox was buried... your rocket launcher wouldn't have been in it, though.”

Soldier started towards the cascade of debris, glowering at it. “Dammit! That's my most important tool! If someone made off with it while I was unconscious, I will find that son-of-a-bitch and I will personally SHOVE IT UP HIS-“ His voice broke off into an embarrassing yelp of surprise, as he snagged his foot on something in the undergrowth. Soldier managed not to fall, thanks to his lightning-fast reflexes. As he half-staggered, half-pirouetted to a stable position, he looked down and realized it wasn't a booby trap that had nearly tripped him. “Call off the search! I have located the missing ordinance!”

He found his backpack soon after, which was a great relief as well- there were some more weapons in there. After securing his muddy jacket to the underside of his pack, Soldier was ready to move out. He absentmindedly turned Engineer's cold-water flask in his hands, and watched as the Texan disassembled the healing unit into neat, easily packaged modules.

“Need any help with that?”

Engineer looked up from his work, then smiled sheepishly. “Nah, I'm pretty-much done. Although... if you don't mind packing an extra few pounds along, could I strap this casing to yer rucksack? It ain't essential, but it'll protect the healin' machine when I set it up again. I just don't have room for it in my toolbox.”

A wide grin tugged at Soldier's face. “Private, I would be willing to carry around two of you if I had to! Strap it on, we've got to find cover before nightfall.”



The two men began their journey along the same route Scout had travelled, slopping their way down the long drainage trough to its source. Soldier was desperately hoping to find an enemy along the way, but the renegade who had attacked them was apparently making himself scarce. With no animals larger than a bird or an opossum on the island, his chances of getting to fight something before dark were disappointingly low.

As they came up on the large culvert, Soldier frowned, squinting into the gloom. “You have a flashlight, Engie? I can't see a Goddamn thing in there.”

“Of course,” the little guy said, smiling. He propped the toolbox against his hip, then fished a flashlight out of his pocket and handed it to Soldier. “Hang onto that, I gotta' use both my hands to lug this toolbox around.”

Dark, confined spaces weren't Soldier's favourite thing in the world, but holding the light gave him a reassuring sense of control. He illuminated the dingy tunnel and stooped a bit, then steeled himself and pressed onwards. The flashlight reflected off the cold, dirty water, sending back beams of light that dazzled his eyes.

A rather large snake wriggled in the spotlight for a moment, and Soldier choked back a yell of surprise; he suddenly wished he knew what the dangerous ones looked like. Were there poisonous snakes on the island? Or anacondas? There was an article about anacondas in his last issue of “Patriot's Life Magazine”, advising that they could squeeze the life out of even the hardiest man, or swallow him whole while he slept. “...those devious commie reptiles,” he murmured.

As Soldier balked, a reassuring voice cut into his paranoid fantasies. “Somethin' wrong over there? Y'see anything?”

He swallowed audibly. “No, it's- there's nothing. Nothing here.” Engineer was closing in from behind him, cutting off his escape route. With no alternative, Soldier summoned his courage and kept going. After an uneasy slog through the creeping darkness, he was relieved to exit the culvert and find they were at the bottom of a pit. Specifically, a pit with obvious means of egress: a ladder, and a door.

“Well, well, well... if we want to find those bastards, I don't think we'll have to search much longer. See that door, Engie?” With the sun rapidly making its departure for the evening, the flashlight was becoming more and more useful. Soldier turned its beam on the keypad by the door, which was coated in a patina of grime and dried blood.

“I reckon they've been usin' that one pretty recently,” Engineer said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Wonder how hard it'd be for me ta override that...”

Soldier squared his mastiff jaw, frowning at the obstacle. “With all due respect, private, I think blowing the door down would be quicker.”

A smile creased Engineer's lips, and he set his toolbox down, then firmly patted the older American's shoulder. “Too true, Sarge. But think of it this way- once we kill those- those people, whoever they are- we're still gonna' have the BLU's ta fight. Y'see the logo under that peephole? "RED Company". This's gonna' be OUR base.”

The frown persisted on Soldier's face, deepening as Engineer began to argue against solving this problem with the quick, satisfying use of explosives. As he continued to listen, though, his irritation began to fade... the Texan opened his eyes to a different perspective, one that took the long term into account. “I see... This is a war we're fighting, after all! Not just a few skirmishes. If we're going to take this island and hold it against the BLUs, we'll need a good, defensible position to do that from!” Soldier nodded slowly as his mind worked, and he decided it really would be best to leave this to the mechanic. He looked to Engineer and clapped a hand against his back. “Good thinking, Engie! This one's gonna' be yours.”

“I'll get right on it, Sarge.” Engineer looked back at Soldier, smiling warmly, then stooped down and started rifling through his toolbox, gathering supplies. With nothing else to do, Soldier held the flashlight and watched him work.

As Engineer degloved the Gunslinger and began fiddling with wires, Soldier's mind was free to meander wherever it pleased. His thoughts wandered back to the conversation with they just had, then continued its leisurely stroll further back along the day's events: The dreadful moment where he let go of Engineer's hand, and watched him vanish into the undergrowth... The wretched fever-dreams that Engineer rescued him from, with a gentle touch and ice-cold water... That indescribable surge of vitality he felt when Engineer restored him to health...

A weird sensation flared up in his chest, sending waves of warmth that rolled down his back and his thighs, down to the pit of his stomach, and the root of his hardening cock. It wasn't the first time this had happened, by any stretch of the imagination. Despite what he'd been told in his formative years, Soldier had eventually determined that it wasn't a precursor to blindness, or even petrification. While that was a great relief to his adolescent mind, it didn't help him understand it any better.

As he metamorphosed from boy to man, Soldier's concept of arousal developed into something close to normal - at least, it had never earned him any jail time - although he had the most success in following through with partners who barely spoke English. Women who understood everything he was saying usually turned the other way. Fleeting sensations were acceptable for a military man. But when the emotions persisted long after such an encounter, or worse - when the object of his desire was inappropriate, politically suspect, even deviant – that was when Soldier found himself troubled by the things that went on underneath his uniform.

He frowned a bit, even as pleasure was tingling through his fundament, conjuring idle fantasies and lascivious, half-formed desires. Still holding the flashlight for his working companion, Soldier began muttering to himself. He had a hard time with internal monologues. "I'm a soldier, dammit. A military man. I must be focused on the mission during my every waking moment, and exert all my strength towards completing our task in this mosquito-infested tropical paradise."

"You say somethin' back there?" Engineer asked absentmindedly, not looking back. His attention was centered on a jumble of wires, connecting the Gunslinger to the grubby keypad beside the door.

Soldier almost jumped, but immediately assumed a professional deadpan. "Nothing, private! Just contemplating the implications of Federalist paper No. 29 on present-day legislation restricting the rights, freedoms and legal concessions granted to organizations such as-"

"Oh, ah see. Don't let me distract ya," Engineer said, glancing back to Soldier with a wink. He then returned to his work, humming quietly.

The older American slouched a little, and felt his mind start wandering again. A pang of longing struck him as he remembered the night before; frustration had been his overwhelming emotional state most of that evening, but when he drifted off to sleep with Engineer by his side, he had been warm, dry, and thoroughly relaxed. He frowned. (Why would I want to be back in that hotel?! A soldier's place is out in the field! Physical comfort is a luxury that only sissies need to get by! Real men are ready to fight anytime, anywhere, regardless of insignificant things like hunger or fatigue.) Soldier was in the midst of convincing himself he didn't need sleep, when a sudden noise sent sharp stabs of alarm through his heart.

It was Engineer, giving a yell of pain as sparks exploded from something he was working with. Soldier dropped the flashlight in a panic and lunged to grab the other man's shoulders, before realizing that the Texan's yelling had progressed to much less worrisome sounds of anger and irritation.

“Damn- dammit- dagnabbit! Goddamn incompatible power spectral density-” Engineer seemed to be thrashing a little, but in the dying light his problem was unclear. After fumbling to retrieve the flashlight, Soldier discovered the source of Engineer's troubles: the Gunslinger, his robotic right forearm, was twitching involuntarily and smoking. There was smoke coming from the keypad on the wall, too, and the occasional spark.

“You alright there, Engie? What's your status?”

Engineer groaned wearily and reached out with his real hand, clutching the wall for support. “Dammit, Sarge, I... Somethin' went wrong, it seems like the voltage that facility's running on up and changed for a moment there. I dunno, maybe the generator's been pushed too hard... they mighta' redistributed the flow of electricity, or...” He cursed and pounded the wall with his fist, while the prosthetic went still and silent. “Whatever happened, I don't think I'm gonna' be good for anything needin' the use of both hands, not until I can sit down and take a look at my Gunslinger. Probably just a burned-out diode, or an actuator that needs tuning... dammit!”

A rumbling growl of frustration rose from Soldier's chest. “That's all for tonight, then, isn't it... ...well, here. Let me climb up out of this hole. Think you can lift your toolbox up one-handed? I can reach down, take it the rest of the way.”

“Yeah,” Engineer said, looking remorseful. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Soldier's brow creased pensively as he climbed out of the pit, then set the flashlight and his pack to one side, and reached down to take Engineer's toolbox up for him. He had seen this expression on Engineer's face before, when the little guy had made a mistake, or a miscalculation. After the heavy toolbox was safely on the ground, Soldier looked back to see his teammate, who was struggling with the ladder. He crouched by the edge of the hole, and leaned over, extending his grasp to Engineer's damaged prosthetic.

“Here, Engie. I can give you a hand.”

Engineer shot him an uncharacteristically moody look, hesitating for reasons that weren't apparent to Soldier. After an awkward pause, he sighed, and finally lifted the immobile hand into the other man's grip. “...alright, I guess I'll get out faster with yer help.”

Once both men were out, they found themselves in a patch of thin forest. Off to their right, Soldier could see some outdoor sodium lamps and the dark shapes of buildings. He hefted his backpack on, then glanced uncertainly at Engineer before taking the toolbox, too. “You want to lead the way, private? Looks like we've got a courtyard off to our three o'clock.”

The mechanic had been sullenly examining his robot arm, but at Soldier's suggestion, he sighed and nodded. “Alright... guess I oughta try and make myself useful, somehow.” He picked up the flashlight from where Soldier had left it, and began trudging through the undergrowth, towards the lights.


Engineer's change of mood hadn't slipped past Soldier's radar. It was actually sort of troubling to him; even in dire situations, the Texan always did his best to keep his chin up. To see him lapse into morose silence at something comparatively insignificant, well, it confounded Soldier. (He didn't get anyone killed, or lose a point we'd been holding... hell, I'm not even chewing him out! Why's he so unhappy? That mechanical mitt of his isn't even broken that badly, he said so himself.) He scratched his monumental chin, brow knitted with concern.

The artificial lighting was stark, showing the courtyard in pale yellow and making every shadow pitch black. Muddy footprints on the ground- traces of Scout, Sniper and the BLU Spy- were indistinct, and all Soldier could see of the alcove where they met was a filthy, dark hole.

Kitty-corner to the old BLU headquarters was a wooden building, and when Engineer's flashlight showed the entrance to be clear of traps, he gestured to it. “Might as well pop in there an' take a look. I'll go first... Worst thing that might happen is you lose a little dead weight.”

As Engineer slipped into the doorway, Soldier hurried after him, feeling an unprecedented flare of anger in his chest.


Just past the entryway, the building opened up into an empty mess-hall, with a few closed doors on the far wall. As he caught up to Engineer, Soldier dropped the tool-box on a wooden table, then grabbed the smaller man's shoulders from behind. He gave him a good shake, and snarled, “ I don't want to hear ANYTHING like that from a member of MY TEAM. If there is a problem, private, you will do what's necessary to sort it out, or- or so help me God, I will...”

Engineer cringed in surprise, then shook himself free and turned to face Soldier, his face pinched in an expression of bitterness. “Where the hell do you get off sayin'- dammit, of course there's a problem! Look, I ain't no good to anyone with this mechanical hand busted.”

“Are you right-handed, private?” Soldier asked, squaring his jaw.

The little guy glowered at his teammate. “No, I was born a southpaw. They tried to beat it outta me in school, I can more-or-less work with either one.”

“Then how can you look me in the eye and say you're useless?!” With his helmet ajar, Soldier really was seeing eye-to-eye with Engineer – literally, if not figuratively. “You say you're dead weight? Then do something about it! You said you could fix the problem, right?”

Engineer heaved a sigh, then spoke in a voice that was more hoarse than usual. “That could take hours. ...I guess there's no reason it's gotta' occupy your time, now that I think about it. You're fixed up and you've got your weapons- you'd be better off goin' on without me.”

Soldier hesitated. The thought of leaving Engineer hadn't even occurred to him. It only took a moment's consideration for him to reject the idea, though. “Negatory on that, private, I'm staying with you.”

“Why'd you do that?! I'll only slow you down, dammit. You might get somethin' done out there, if you leave me now...” Now the Texan's brow creased, and he fidgeted, clutching at the flashlight.

The older American clasped his hands over Engineer's shoulders and stared at him for a long moment. Up until that point, he knew exactly what to say, but now words were failing him. He swallowed with an audible click, cleared his throat, then finally forced himself to start talking again. “I won't leave you. You... you've never abandoned me in the field. This afternoon, when anyone else would have put me out of my misery... you stayed. Got me back on my feet, even though it took hours of your time to do it.” He paused to take a deep breath, and tried to ignore the pain in his throat. “This is a warzone, private. Too dangerous for you to repair that thing without someone watching your back. And even if it wasn't, I- I still couldn't leave you.”

Engineer had an odd expression on his face, as he looked up at Soldier with uncertain eyes. “Why's that, Sarge?”

Grimacing, Soldier had the nagging impression that he barely knew what the hell he was about to do. There was an ache in his chest which was most certainly not a heart attack in process, and deep inside him, he could feel that heat continuing to steadily brew, creeping out over his body in thrilling little tendrils. Unable to articulate himself or hold back any longer, he reached out and crushed Engineer against his chest in a rough bear-hug.

Wow, the ending almost made me cry. It is gorgeous and just so sweet. I'll be honest, I have only really been reading the Soldier/Engineer parts (sorry). That said, I am loving it. The way you make it continue on and on, what events are taking place to reach this moment, it is not rushed. However, it may just be me, but it seems to have dragged out a little bit too long. Like I said, it may just be me, and I want to see the relationship happen, which is next I imagine?

Your skills in writing is also done well. Description-wise, what words you use, it's all good. I hope to see more soon as the suspense is killing me. Keep up the good work.

Thanks for the feedback! I'll be shameless and admit I've skimmed fanfics before for vignettes with characters I like/dirty bits/etc. I probably should have punctuated this build-up with scenes of what's happening elsewhere, but I didn't have anything else written yet that I could stuff in (and now that I've dragged it on to this moment in the story, leaving people hanging on the sex scene what happens next would be a big cock-block. That part will wrap up things with these two for the time being, and hopefully without needing the extra attention to detail that always slows me down when writing smut sensitive relationship stuff, I'll be able to chug ahead a little faster.

I haven't felt like drawing for a long while, but if anyone remembers my shitty art on this site, they might remember I didn't draw much porn of Soldier and Engineer. This was because I didn't feel that with my abilities, I could do them justice. When I started brainstorming this story, one of the things I had planned from the start was a good ol' dirty Helmet Party scene. Whether or not I managed the "good" part is up to taste, but here it is.

_________________________________

It was not because of some harsh upbringing that Engineer was a perfectionist. Rather, the trait just seemed to run in his blood. Like his ancestors before him, he had a brilliant mind, and with the mental expanse of genius came a tendency to go full-blown neurotic. Engineer kept his eccentricities in check, of course. Unlike a true madman, he was cursed with an acute awareness of what was and wasn’t considered normal behavior. Moreover, he tended to be soft-spoken and agreeable despite his quirks. He didn’t like to raise a fuss, so even when his mental extremes were driving him to rage or despair, he did his best to clam up and not bother anyone else with them.

Hence why his anger manifested when he failed to override the RED base’s electronic lock, and damaged the Gunslinger in the process. Engineer held himself to different standards than his teammates, even the ones he considered close. While a friend’s error was always forgivable, Engineer’s mistakes were a catastrophe in his own mind. He was still beating himself up over it as Soldier helped him up the ladder, brooding as the bigger man carried his toolbox for him, tying himself in knots when his teammate confronted him in the mess hall. Engineer knew that Soldier could never understand why he treated himself harshly, as much as he knew his feelings of failure were overinflated. He had argued with people in the past over incidents like this, and never been able to overcome his irrational thoughts. The best he could do was let them fade, which could take hours, or even days.

In the dark stillness of the disused mess, however, something new happened. Two new things, really. The first was the person arguing with him. Soldier was abnormally stubborn, and in his own gruff way, he seemed to have unyielding faith in Engineer. He didn't stoop to tired bromides like “Everyone makes mistakes”, or “You'll do better next time”.

The second new thing was Engineer’s surprise when the bigger man hugged him. Maybe it was the tightness of the embrace, or the man doing the embracing amidst a heated argument, but Engineer was shocked out of his fugue. He stood confused, staring at the side of Soldier’s head, feeling Soldier’s breath on his neck. After a moment, he squirmed a little and, finding his arms trapped, just pressed his cheek against the other man’s and gave a soft sigh.

“Thanks,” Engineer said quietly, breathing in Soldier’s scent. He smelled like the jungle, mostly, but there was a hint of sweat and cheap hotel soap as well. When he made a sound that might have been intended as a question, Engineer added, “Fer... y’know. Puttin’ up with me...”

When Soldier finally spoke, his voice was even and oddly thoughtful. “You’re a good man, private. A smart man. You’ve even taught an old dog like me some new things. I think about you a lot.” He paused, clearing his throat a little. “You’re an inspiration.”

Although Soldier sounded calm, Engineer could feel his heart thundering in his chest, and there was something else. With a little determined wriggling, the mechanic got his arms free and dropped his flashlight on a table, then returned the embrace. Although the prosthetic on his right arm was useless right now, Engineer’s left hand was free to rub Soldier’s flank, and pat the man’s back. “You mean a lot t’me too, Sarge. Seems like whenever you see me in some kinda bad state, you’re always there to offer a helping hand. Ah like you.”

In the dim light, he could see Soldier lean back a bit and look down at him. The older American seemed sort of confounded to be holding him so tight, exchanging quiet words. Engineer felt something hard nudge against his thigh, and smiled warmly, giving Soldier a sly glance. “You got somethin’ in your pocket, Sarge, or are you just in a real good mood all of a sudden?”

Soldier seemed pretty flustered by this comment, and cleared his throat again, straightening his posture. His hands fumbled for a suitable place to rest, then settled at Engineer’s waist. “I am unaware of any such 'something', private, and IF I were, I would be UNAUTHORIZED to disclose information pertaining to—”

“C’mon, we’re both men, here. Ain’t no shame in it, if it don’t mean nothin’.” Engineer raised his eyebrows a little, still smiling. He was hoping it did mean something, of course. Soldier was one of his closest friends, one he’d entertained thoughts of getting closer to. After all the things they’d been through over course of the day, he desperately needed something to soothe his nerves. If the whole team was back at their hotel, Sniper would have been his first choice. Probably. Maybe. It was hard to think, what with an erection pressing to his thighs. The Australian wasn’t here right now, but Soldier was. Boy, was he ever.

“And if it does mean something, private?” Soldier was still eyeballing him, swallowing back the roughness of a dry throat. Engineer could feel the older man’s hands at his waist, tentatively pressing into the muscles of his flanks.

“If it does, Sarge, I’d be much obliged to help you deal with it.” As Engineer spoke, he watched Soldier’s expression. His teammate looked intrigued, and continued to grasp him with shaky hands.

“I see. Well then, Engie, I, uh, I believe the best course of action would be to address the situation in a manner—or rather, uh, in THE manner—that you consider most strategically effective.” Peering out from under his helmet, Soldier’s eyes were anxious, filled with voracious anticipation. Apparently, this was what passed as a sexual proposition in the military man’s book.

Engineer’s mouth spread into a wide grin. He had fantasized about Soldier before, transforming shower-room glimpses of the man’s body into something more lascivious, or even imagining what he might be like in the sack. Engineer didn’t really know much about his teammate’s sexual behavior. Truth be told, none of their conversations had ever entered that murky territory. It wasn’t that Soldier appeared to lack virility, but his sex drive came out in weirdly misdirected ways. For him, every battle was a carnal conquest. He charged in with both hands on his looming, phallic weapon, screaming furiously as he blasted other men apart with high-explosive ejaculations.

At the sight of heavily armed mercenaries competing to kill each other, it was hard not to see Freudian connotations in the men and their weapons. With his mercenary work for RED providing such an outlet for Soldier, it was little wonder he never talked with Engineer about old conquests or lost love. He spent every workday fucking people to death with the strongest metaphorical dick on the battlefield. As far as releasing mindless, pent-up libido was concerned, Soldier was covered.

This may have been the reason that, faced with a specific person—a close friend, no less—who was rousing his desires, Soldier seemed a little confounded. He was looking to Engineer for direction. (Call me crazy, but it kind of sounds like he’s hoping for orders, or some kind of battle plan. I’ve never done anything quite like that before, but just thinking about it is giving me ideas...)

“First thing we’ve gotta do is block that door. Don’t want anyone wanderin’ into our safe house. Then... well, we’ll undress a little, and see what happens next.”

It only took a moment for the two men to shove a table in front of the door, and reinforce the barricade with Engineer’s heavy toolbox. Next thing Engineer knew, he was biting into Soldier’s collarbone, and undoing the larger man’s belt. A second later his teammate joined in, and soon his overalls were unstrapped and falling down around his feet. Engineer craned his neck to press light kisses against Soldier’s throat, and the older American started uttering growls and faint groans.

With only Engineer’s flashlight to illuminate the entire room, everything was thrown into deep shadows, with a spotlight that fell across the far wall. Engineer could make out little more than a silhouette of his companion, but that was alright. His other senses meant more to him once his pants were off, anyhow. Glancing down, Engineer could see the faint whiteness of Soldier’s briefs, unable to hide his stiff salute even in the dim light. Although tempted to just grab him and get right down to business, Engineer decided to take it slow. Out of caution, as much as the urge to exercise a hint of sadism. He still wasn’t completely sure what inspired Soldier to take a sexual interest in him, and in this sort of encounter, but something in the man’s words had made this much clear: Soldier had handed the reins over to Engineer and placed his trust in the mechanic’s hands.

Engineer was going to make good use of that surrender. “Alright Sarge, now you just stand at attention there, y’hear? I’m in command as of now, and I’ve got a real specific set of protocols to follow, seein’ as I’m offerin’ my expertise in this here situation.” As he spoke, Engineer kneeled on the floor. The tattered remains of Soldier’s pants were looped around his ankles, but they didn’t concern the man in charge. His interests fell somewhere between Soldier’s legs.

Soldier’s head was tilted downwards. When he noticed Engineer looking up at him, he quickly raised it to stare ahead. “What is required of me at this point in the operation?”

“Like ah said before, stand at attention, arms at yer sides. I’ll take care of everythin’. For now, anyway.” Engineer chuckled. He gently cupped Soldier’s balls through the fabric of his briefs. A faint grunt was his only reaction as the Texan removed his underwear, then softly manipulated his rather vulnerable privates, rubbing the thin skin of the scrotum, tracing a line up the underside of his circumcised, rock-hard dick. Engineer smirked, and elicited a trembling gasp from Soldier by drawing the edge of a thumbnail across his frenulum.

“There. How’s that treatin’ you, Sarge? Go on, tell me.”

Soldier groaned. He was clenching his teeth and looking off at nothing in particular with slitted eyes, sweat beading on his exposed midriff and rolling down his belly, then vanishing into the thatch of hair that started below his navel. “Good God, Engie, you’re a certifiable expert at th-”

Engineer reached around behind Soldier, then firmly slapped his broad, muscular buttocks. “Call me ‘sir’, boy! And answer mah question. Is that, or is that not, helpin’ to relieve you of your condition?”

The larger man twitched in surprise, and for a moment he began lifting one of his hands, then stopped as Engineer gave him another smack. His erection quivered at the impact, leaking droplets of precum. He panted, clearly confounded by what he was feeling. Nerve impulses firing off at each caress and slap, sending out a current of ravenous desire that electrified his throbbing hard-on. No doubt seeing stars, Soldier swallowed hard, then roughly barked, “I believe the exercise is helping, sir! Requesting permission to take part in the manual portion of this...”

“Request denied. When I want you down here, I’ll damn well say so,” Engineer drawled. Lightly slipping his fingers under the cleft of Soldier’s ass, he drew teasing lines along the larger man’s perineum, then down his inner thighs. While Engineer’s hand introduced Soldier to sensitive spots he never knew he had, the Texan’s lips were kissing a trail along the shaft of his rigid cock.

Soldier rode out this exquisite torture, his lewd muttering punctuated with gasps and growls of frustration. Those sounds left no doubt in Engineer’s mind that Soldier was enjoying his ministrations, but he couldn’t leave his teammate hanging forever. Arousing as it was for him to torment Soldier, he didn’t want the older man to stop enjoying this game. Trying not to let himself get carried away with thoughts of future liaisons and restraints, Engineer murmured, "Alright, Sarge, yer permitted ta get in on the action." Then he craned his neck, and began suckling at the head of Soldier’s dick.

This coaxed a deep groan from Soldier, who was suddenly so weak in the knees that he could barely stand. He leaned over and gripped Engineer’s shoulders for support, then shivered, drawing in shaky breaths between clenched teeth. When Soldier finally regained his powers of articulation, his voice was hoarse and breathy. "God-damn, Engie, I never figured you for a cock-sucker. Just full of surprises, huh?"

A twinge of uncertainty prickled over the back of Engineer’s neck, but he knew they’d both gone too far to run away now. He pulled his lips off the bigger man’s dick with a wet sound, then grinned up at Soldier’s face, trying to ignore the tent he’d pitched in his underwear. "You gave me free reign over your pecker, mister. I saw the look on your face- you want this real bad."

Soldier gazed back down at Engineer, his torrid expression barely visible in the poor light. He gasped for breath and did nothing to deny the Texan’s words. "I’ve always liked you, always felt good just being around you. Maybe it’s—" He stopped talking and moaned as Engineer gently squeezed his balls, reminding him of who was in charge. "Ahh! I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into me, Engie, but I think I like it. Wh- what are your next orders?"

"Mmm, how’s about you join me down here, where we can get comfy together? Teasin’s fun, but I also like to get a little attention, y’know? Takes two to tango."

Soldier kicked away his tattered clothes and sat on the floor, legs spread apart with his kneeling teammate between them. When Engineer fumbled to finish undressing, Soldier tugged the Texan’s underwear down, and gave a lustful snarl as instinct took over. He reached under his partner and took a round, solid buttock in each hand, then began kneading the firm flesh, exploring this new territory with lecherous excitement. "Your ass is nothing like a woman’s, private... is that why you do this kind of thing? ‘Cause you want someone harder? Someone who’s all rugged and sweaty?"

Engineer trembled as Soldier fondled him, and curiously teased the sensitive, puckered skin around his rear entrance. "Y’could say that," he panted. "Women are—they feel alright, yeah, but the smell of perfume just don’t turn me on like a working man’s smell does. First time I met another fella who felt the same way was back when I was workin’ on the oil rigs down home.”

While he spoke, Engineer wound his right arm around the back of Soldier’s neck for support, then groped blindly between their bodies until he got hold of his partner’s dick. He arched his back and gave a soft yelp as Soldier fingered him a little. The other man was enthusiastic, but clearly inexperienced, and they were both getting too close to stop now and hunt down some lube. Feeling desperate for release and a diversion, Engineer broke through the last barrier he had erected between his conscience and his desires. He pulled himself closer to Soldier until their noses were almost touching, then leaned in for a forceful kiss.

The older American’s eyes widened in shock as Engineer’s lips met his, stoking the fires that smoldered in each of them. After a moment of this new sensation, he gave a muffled groan and sagged against his friend, his eyes rolling up behind fluttering eyelids. When Engineer broke the kiss and released his throbbing erection for a second, all Soldier could do was take a few deep breaths and squirm closer to the Texan. An odd sound caught his attention, and he glanced over with dizzy curiosity. “Why’d you spit in your hand there, Engie?”

Engineer’s blue eyes had taken on an impish appearance in the dim light. They almost seemed to glow from within with lust, and desperate, heart-twisting affection. “C’mon Sarge, I think it’s time to light this one off. Here, gimme your hand... There, that’s it.” He guided their hands down below their sweat-slicked bellies, easing his hips forwards until he felt his penis brush against Soldier’s. Slick from precum and saliva, Engineer’s fingers slipped over the two thick pink heads, fondled them, rubbed them together firmly. This seemed to clarify his intentions to the older man, who shivered and curled his large hand around both men’s straining shafts.

Soldier seemed desperate to say something, but unable to find the right words. He had to make do with incoherent mumbling, before giving up and expressing himself with another kiss. He was rewarded with a throaty sigh, and an electrifying flick of his lover’s tongue. Too excited to wait any longer, Soldier hooked his legs around Engineer’s waist. They fell into each other, both men thrusting into their tightly grasping hands, grinding their slick hard-ons together in mutual gratification. If didn’t feel like a race, but rather a simple act of deep affection. Like a kiss, but with more friction and bodily fluids. In the gloom of their sanctuary from the war outside, Engineer finally found a reprieve from his troubled heart, and Soldier found something more satisfying than mindless destruction.

this is my favorite fic on the chan at the moment, and everytime i see an update i jump a little and instantly open up the thread to read it. the fact that there is now helmets only sweetens the deal, and i'm pretty sure that even if i didn't love this pairing already this chapter would have converted me.

the way you describe engineer's thoughts on the soldier was incredible. i can't exactly explain it myself, but the way you wrote out about how fighting is soldier's sexual outlet was amazing and perfect and made so much sense for his character, too.

i'm loving this and eagerly await more! you're a great writer.

>>92 Thanks, I was a little worried everyone had gotten bored and left before the sexy Helmet times! It was sort of fun psychoanalyzing Soldier, as it were, and generally trying to think of the casual, everyday aspects of their relationship. (ie. when they would hang around, what they would talk about, what they do together in their spare time). My clone likes her some helmet party too, but says she considers it kind of an obligatory pairing. In the last fic I wrote, and this one, I've put thought into what would bring Engineer and Soldier together, aside from the fact that they make for some awesome porn.

And now we leave RED Soldier and Engineer to cuddle, and time-warp back to catch up on BLU Spy, RED Scout and Sniper.
___________________________

Hours before Engineer and Soldier had found cover for the evening, the late afternoon’s heat still hung over the island like a pall. A few places offered reprieve from the tropical atmosphere, but these were limited to caves and underground chambers. One such locale was the manor’s cellar. In a dusty, locked room, Scout was coming back to his senses.

The heavy sedation he was under had left him nearly insensible from the moment he was shot until the present. Vague memories of what had happened in the meantime still lingered. As he surfaced amidst bone-gnawing pain, Scout tried to make sense of them. (I think someone back there kicked the shit out of me... I know I heard Sniper yelling at some people. Christ, everything hurts.)

He squinted, and discovered to his relief that he was in a dark place. Opening his eyes a little more, the first thing Scout could see was dirty shoes and a pair of ankles duct-taped together, with similarly dirty pant-legs attached. It was the BLU Spy, sitting on the floor beside him. Scout swallowed, grimacing at the hint of blood he could taste, then hissed, “Hey asshole! You awake over there?”

“No, I died wit’ my goddamn eyes open,” he grunted, sounding rather displeased. Looking up, Scout noticed the masked man’s arms were folded behind his back, no doubt bound with duct-tape as well. Spy glanced away morosely, adding, “I guess you two dumbfucks couldn’t do any better den me, eh?”

It was about this time that Scout realized he was also restrained, which went a little ways to explaining his own discomfort. This sent a wave of alarm through him, and he blurted, “What the hell happened? Where’s Sniper?”

Spy rolled his eyes. “We got captured. Da sniper’s on da floor behind you. Don’t know when he’ll come around. Dey must have got him after you.”

“I- I remember seein’ him tied up, back in that room with the crazy secret door. Some of those guys were tryin’ to take him away, but he was hissing and spitting like a fuckin’ wildcat. They musta shot him up with somethin’ like they did to us.” Scout groaned in pain. His whole body felt like a bad headache. He squirmed listlessly in his bonds, then asked, “Hey, uh... do I got any bruises on me?”

“You look like you got worked over in a back alley, kid.”

Spy seemed distant and agitated as he spoke. Scout wondered if he was feeling strung-out with no cigarette in his mouth, or if he was just being an asshole. In the absence of anything better to do, the boy studied him for a while. Maybe it was the effects of being stranded in the jungle, but he looked like a wearier, cheaper version of the Spy on Scout’s team. In a filthy costume and a day and a half’s worth of stubble, he was approaching a sort of hobo aesthetic. (Or maybe one of those sad clowns who’s dressed up like a hobo. He’s got to be at least forty, with all those lines on his face. Geez, where the hell did they get this fucking guy? Is he even French? Maybe they’ve got weird accents all over the country, like we do. France is as big as a couple states, right?) Scout considered asking for a moment, then decided not to. That Spy was a jerk, anyway.

Scout tried pulling himself into a sitting posture, but the pain of his injuries dissuaded him. “They just had ta put fuckin’ duck tape over my wrist, didn’t they? This bites! My hand had better not rot off. You think it’s gonna get infected? I mean, the jungle’s full of fuckin’ germs and shit, right? At least I got a bunch of shots after that biting incident, or I’d probably be dead by now. What the hell are they gonna do to us, anyway? If they kill us, we’ll just wind up back in Teufort. What if they torture us? They wouldn’t torture us, would they? I mean, we don’t know shit about this fuckin’ place! I never even heard of it before we got sent here! Oh my God, what if they’re like, fuckin’ psychos or something? What if they just torture us for kicks? Does that shit ever happen outside of movies or, like, evil prison camps? They said I wouldn’t ever get tortured when I took this job, I’m abso-fuckin’-lutely positive I read it in my contract or-”

With an angry snarl, Spy suddenly thrashed around in an attempt to kick Scout in the teeth. He yelped and managed to twist away, leaving the older man’s shoes with nothing to strike. “Goddammit, why da fuck didn't someone knock your Goddamn teeth out when dey were beating on you?!” Spy snapped.

“Geez, who took a shit on your pillow?” Scout grumbled, cringing.

The only answer he got was a hostile glare. A minute or so later, Spy suddenly gave him a weird look. “Wait, what biting incident?”

Never shying away from an opportunity to talk, Scout started to explain. “There was this old guy and his dog who stumbled into the back lot of our base at the gravel pit, see? He was like a vagrant, or a hippie or somethin’. So Soldier and Pyro went out to try chasin’ them off, and they all got arguin’, and then the dog got barkin’ at Pyro, but he’s kinda freaked out by dogs. So he tried kicking the dog away, and-”

“Den what, it bit him?”

Scout shook his head. “Nah, the old hippie did. Right through his suit. Anyhow, Pyro started actin’ really weird after that. The Doc’ said maybe the hippie had rabies, but Demoman thought he was some kinda fuckin’ hippie-vampire, or maybe a hippie-zombie? So one night we’re all watchin’ television, and Pyro came in and he grabbed Soldier and started-”

A knock at the door interrupted Scout’s story. He assumed it was a door, anyhow. From where he was lying, he couldn’t actually see that side of the room. The muffled voice of someone on the other side could be heard. “I hear you talking in zhere, my little prisoners... Are you all vell? None of you has died, yes? I vould be quite upset if zhat happened! Zhere is so much I vant to do vith you all.” It was the renegade team’s doctor, who had been referred to as Ruprecht.

“Maudite, foutre le camp!” Spy snapped, glowering over Scout’s head. “I don’t want any of you bastards here unless you’ve brought some fucking cigarettes!”

Ruprecht gave a sadistic, hooting laugh. “Ve haff none to spare, regrettably! Some greedy mice rifled through our ration supply and stole a lot of zhem. Ze other men are very displeased. I think it is a filthy habit, to be honest. Terrible for ze lungs. Just one more thing I must tolerate in zhis line of vork.”

“Let us go, you fuckin’ asshole! This shit ain’t kosher, you hear me?!” With a target for his anger, Scout felt a little less abandoned. He rolled over onto his other side and glared up at the door, which was antique, but very sturdy looking. Below the doorknob was a keyhole, and he was pretty certain that their captors must have locked it, just in case the duct tape wasn’t enough. “I swear to God, I’m gonna bust your kneecaps when I get outta here! You are fuckin’ dead!”

“Ah, I am glad to hear you are still lively, even after zhat other young man vented his frustrations on you. Don’t hurt yourself trying to break out, boy. You are ze most important captive in zhere! I haff already planned your session vith me. You are going to be quite useful to my team.”

“So come and get me already!” Scout gritted his teeth, then contemplated how well he might be able to fight with his hands behind his back and his ankles tied. (I could still kick the bastard, or headbutt him if he starts trying to pick me up. Hope he doesn’t get a buddy to help him take me away.) He tried not to think about what the enemy doctor’s plans might be. That made it easier for him to keep his cool.

“Unfortunately, I am required to vait for ze man in charge to return. He is quite insistent ve keep any intruders alive, at least long enough for him to question zhem. After zhat, of course... you will be mine.”

As he heard footsteps from outside the door, growing quieter as the moments passed, Scout bristled. “Motherfucker... Ugh, we’ve gotta get out of here. You have any secret spy crap left on you, frenchie?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be advertising da fact,” Spy muttered in a very low voice, and jabbed Scout’s back with one of his shoes. “Always assume someone’s eavesdropping on you, stupid. Just because you don’t see any bugs or cameras in da room, doesn’t mean dey don’t have some other way to make sure we aren’t up to anyt’ing.”

“Asshole.” Scout had gotten bored of looking at the door, and shifted his position a little so he could watch Sniper instead. The unconscious Australian was now missing his glasses as well as his hat, and had a brand-new shiner to boot. His right eye was swollen, scratched and reddish, surrounded by a dark bruise – that and his excess beard scruff made him look even more like a sad clown/hobo than BLU Spy, and Scout felt an uncomfortable pang of regret in his gut, as he thought about what happened back in the conservatory. (I should have been there for you, man. Should've been more careful. Maybe if I hadn't got nailed, we could have got away. What the hell's going to happen to us, now?)

Feeling cold, hungry, and rightfully sore from the fresh crop of bruises Andy had given him, Scout sulked on the floor and wondered how things were going for the rest of his team. It had to be better than rotting in this godforsaken pit, with his teammate drugged and unresponsive, and his fair-weather enemy trying to kick his teeth in. (The least those assholes could have done was keep this cellar stocked with moonshine.)

I enjoy all your updates, with or without porn.

I don't care about "Our Lost Kingdoms" anymore. I just want to hear the rest of Scoot's story about "The Biting Incident." Seriously. What did Pyro do one night while they were all watching television? What became of the hippie and his dog? Was the hippie really the Miss Pauling in disguise? I can't handle the suspense!

And, yeah, I guess the rest of the story is okay, too.

I kept wanting to make some reference to a biting incident, but I didn't really think it out in much detail.... if I can think up a more expanded version of that story, though, (along with an ending), who knows? *ghostly sounds*

...the captcha was "great". Is it saying something about this idea?

so just so you know, your updates fill me with an abnormal amount of glee. Your amazing and your fic is amazing, and don't ever stop.

Also I'm kind of tickled at the idea of engie and soldier getting it on while scout and sniper are so screwed. But absolutely no complaints about it, of course.

>>96
After much thought, I've decided that hippieism is a communicable disease, and that Pyro, himself having been infected, bites Soldier as well. Then they run off to California to hold hands and talk about their feelings. It's the worst thing that could possibly happen.

>>97 There's a stretch of a few hours from the point that Scout and company are imprisoned, and the point that Soldier and Engineer are gettin' busy. More is yet to come on that front! It does make for a funny mental picture, though. (Sorry, we can't rescue you boys right now. We're, uh... we're fixing something. Yeah.)

>>98 Oh my God, that's a brilliant idea! Everyone else would have to go to San Francisco or wherever they went, and try to rescue them from their terrible fate! Pyro just wouldn't be right as a hippy, the only thing he'd light up would be candles, incense, and wacky weed. And Soldier becoming a hippy would almost be like this world-destabilizing paradox...

I'm not a writer myself so I feel I can't really express how much I am loving this story. I can't give crit either! But this is by far one of the best stories I've read in TF2 fandom. The characters are great, the action is intense and the mystery is tantalizing. And thank you so much for your frequent updates.