Okay. Here it comes.

/***/

The Scout's mother stepped off the plane, her carry-on in tow. Even if she had only been sitting for hours on end, she felt exhausted. She couldn't sleep, her mind frantic with activity. She placed a hand on the back of her head, her hairdo in impeccable shape thanks to some industrial-grade hairspray. The black-haired woman shuffled her way through customs, wary of the people around her. There were hundreds of burly people around her, men and women alike built like Olympian gods. She was used to her paramour's friends, some of whom shared a similar overbearing stance. But now, surrounded by shining specimens of human potential, she began to wonder if she was in over her head.

Well, even a large person could fall to a shotgun blast. She just had to go get it.

It didn't take too long to go through customs. The little woman was quick to declare her items. Nobody seemed to make a fuss about her weaponry. Funny. Then again, if she understood the country correctly, they were all a little mad. She passed through, quick to pick up her luggage and weapon case. Easy. All she'd have to do is—

"M'am?" Somebody tapped her on the shoulder.

The Scout's mom spun on her heel. There were two men flanking her. Both of them had thick, bushy moustaches and hair that would make Norse gods jealous. They were dressed in crisp suits, complete with white gloves. Their brawny stature and sharp appearance did little to intimidate her. Never-the-less, she kept polite. "Did I do somethin' wrong?"

"No." The man on her left turned perpendicular to her. "We were sent ta pick ya up."

"No one's expectin' me." She snarled, white teeth bright against red lipstick. "Just who do ya think ya—"

One of the guards pressed a hand on her shoulder. A cold sensation made her shiver. He pulled his hand away, gauze in his palm. Chills shot through her. There was a buzzing sensation in her head, a weird scent like mint filling her nostrils. She turned her head towards her shoulder, noticing a shining spot on her skin. It looked like lotion.

It didn't take long for the slime to knock her off her feet. She stumbled backwards, brain stupefied. One man took her items. The other grabbed her by the waist, forcing her to trudge towards the exit. To any other traveler, it looked like two security guards were helping a drunken woman outside. Hardly anything as insidious as a kidnapping.

Her consciousness was slipping fast. She knew that she should have fought, bitten and scratched her way to safety. Hell, even screaming would have been helpful. There was nothing to her. She was all fluff, no substance. It was amazing she was still on her feet. The least those bastards could have done was carry her away.

Her two abductors forced her outside, pressing her towards a waiting car. It was long and black. Just like every villainous car ever, she supposed, save for the decals. One opened the passenger door for her. He scooped her off her feet, dropping her inside. At least he had the courtesy to buckle her in. The other man tossed her luggage into the trunk. Both were quick to hop into the front. It didn't take long for the car to rumble away. She leaned her head against the car's window, staring at her feet. She'd lost a shoe. Oh, well. A giggle escaped her. Maybe a prince would find it.

The Scout's mother closed her eyes, absent-mindedly wondering why the car was decorated with roses.

/***/

It was not an hour later that another set of strange foreigners landed in that same international airport. There was a small dark-haired woman amongst them as well. She did not attract as much attention as her companions. Even amongst the most muscle-bound, the Heavy was a towering titan that attracted the swoons and fawns of many a thick-mustached Australian woman. This did little to please the Medic, two different kinds of jealous combining to give him a double-dosage of grief. His vanity and his possessive nature nipped at him. The Soldier, the Demoman, and the Engineer each got their fair share of fascinated glances as well. So did the Pyro, but that may have been more out of confusion than general interest. Of course, that left the Scout more or less ignored.

"So, dis is Australia, huh?" The Scout grumbled. "Thought dhey'd have kangaroos out in the lobby or somethin'."

Miss Pauling cocked her head, somewhat confused. "Well, that woman has one on a leash, for what that is worth to you."

The Medic fumbled with his glasses. "Are ve sure zhat is a kangaroo? Could be a wallaby."

"Or a wallaroo. Is that a thing? It seems like it should be a thing," the Soldier rambled.

The Pyro shrugged. "Drr arr rood raig diand rads da mrr."

"Giant rats? Bitte." The Medic shook his head. "If anyzing, zhey look like veird deer."

"I think Pyro was closer with da whole rat thin'," the Scout interjected.

There was a grunt from behind the team. The Engineer was struggling with his luggage. The Texan had a bad habit of over-packing. His toolbox was heavy enough to put a man in a coma, if anyone dared to throw it. The Demoman and the Soldier paused, each man grabbing a second bag. The Engineer extended his gratitude. "Thank ya." He sighed once more, then continued. "I'd hate ta interrupt a thrillin' debate, but perhaps we should consider makin' a plan."

"Is fair suggestion," the Heavy agreed. He shifted the weight on his back, thinking for a moment. "Doctor and Demoman know where little make-up woman works, da? Then we set up camp there. Wait for her to return. Then, pow!"

The Demoman liked where the Heavy was going with his plan. "Ay, mate! I'll strap some stickies to th' doors! That ought ta flush them out!"

"I can't believe I have to say this, but could you gentlemen not kill anyone?" Miss Pauling rubbed her temples. "God help the Sniper and the Spy if the Georgian government ever catches up with them. I don't need you men to around murdering anyone else in public."

The Heavy's face went dark. "It would be bad. Neither baby man has enough fat to make it through winter in Gulag. Would freeze." As soon as he'd gone macabre, he snapped back to his joyful self. "But, if they die, they come back to us. Right?"

Whistling low, the Engineer provided an answer. "It'd take a ton 'a time, though. They'd have ta be lucky enough for the respawn's satellite to pick them up, then they'd have ta be beamed back ta New Mexico. Probably take at least twenty minutes."

The men collectively shuddered. Even fifteen seconds in respawn was uncomfortable. Twenty minutes? They'd be more ghost than man by the time they got a new body. The other side was not as barren and empty as their employers claimed it was. They still had their minds, and they could watch and shout at their friends for all eternity. It usually did no good, too. Respawning came with a feeling of incredible helplessness, of being reduced to nothing but vapors and visions. There were things in the afterlife that they could not shake, shrieks and ghastly figures to haunt them. No, fifteen seconds of limbo was bad enough. Twenty minutes would shatter a man's sense of self.

The Soldier snapped them back to attention. "Alright. I'm going where the action is. One-Eye, City Boy, you're with me. We're going to camp the hell out of that building."

"Fair enough. I'll take lead on trackin' our boys down. They can't be too far away now," the Engineer smiled. "Doc, ya think you can organize supplies in case we have ta take off?"

The Medic nodded. "Ja. No problem. I vill take care of first aid and supplementary items. Heavy, you can handle getting veapons prepared?"

"Of course, Doctor," the Heavy agreed.

"Fair enough." Miss Pauling turned her attention to the Pyro. "That leaves you and me to go to either location. I have no preferences on which direction to go. If you'd like to go with a certain group, now would be a good time to speak up."

Miss Pauling was so different from their mutual employer. Helen certainly wouldn't have given him a choice. She would have merely pointed a finger, then yell at him to get moving. It didn't take long for the Pyro to make a decision. He gestured towards the Soldier, then threw a thumb over his shoulder. "Ruu? Frrr. Mrr? Rrt."

"Fine by me. Just don't start any brush fires, all right?" Miss Pauling nodded.

The Pyro shook his head. Why did everyone assume that he caused things to spontaneously combust? "Rrr brr frrn."

The motley group of foreigners stumbled out of the international airport. They did a fair bit of gawking as they made their way towards public transportation. Brisbane was more glass and steel than they'd anticipated. For a culture so dedicated to the concept of keeping rugged and wild, their environment was awfully clean and sanitized. As the troop rolled out, the Scout stumbled over a bump in the road. He grumbled, hoping that he hadn't accidently ran over a platypus or something. He glanced down to see the scuffed item in the road.

It was a woman's high heeled shoe, small and dainty. Not exactly the kind of shoe that could fit the feet of the Australian amazons. He flipped it over with his sneaker's toe. It was scuffed, the black trim ripped. The heel's tip was scraped away. Inside of the shoe was an American company's label, as well as a petite size. That was not what kept his gaze. He bent down, picking the shoe off the ground as his teammates circled back to figure out why he'd stopped. He shook his head, his lips pulled back in a confused expression.

"What's th' matter, Boyo?" the Demoman asked.

The Scout showed him the inside of the shoe. He glanced down it, his good eye shoved almost into the shoe itself. The Scotsman saw the same information as the Scout had. He gawked at the final piece of writing below the manufacturer's label. There, in black felt-tipped pen, a woman had written her name. Every cocked their heads, all staring at the shoe in confusion.

What was a high-heel with the Scout's mother's name in it doing in Brisbane?

/***/

For a while, the Spy wondered about where the Sniper had come from. He was nothing like his people. While the rest of Australia was thrust forward into glittering technology and shimmering buildings, he remained at its heels, like a tall shadow reaching back in time, clinging to something nostalgic. Here, on this island, he finally knew his teammate's lineage. He saw it in the Sniper's eyes, the way they matched the ocean's clear waters. He moved through the sand with ease, nature never holding him still for long. Massive trees and ferns sheltered him, hiding his movement as he stepped into a forest so thick and intense that it may have well not been disturbed since dinosaurs walked the earth. Verdant, aquamarine, tawny—he was not just of this country and its colors. He was wholly made of its elements, built of a substance older than mankind itself.

The country knew him as its son, and it nurtured him.

The Spy did not ponder the majesty of this place for long. There was work to be done, after all. He didn't dare stand still for long, anyway. Fraser Island was alive, teaming with croaking and shrieking things. He did not wish to meet any of them. At least they had a convenient landing spot. Marian had commissioned a well-sized helicopter to be flown out to the island, deciding not to fight with getting a ferry to land in the reefs. They had gone to the furthest side of the island, east and a little north. A sizable crew had come along with them. There was Toaster and his group, of course, as well as a great number of guards and handymen. The Sniper had suggested landing in this spot, as it was the largest open area in the immediate region. At least the tide was high when they landed. They wouldn't have to worry about their chopper being pulled out to sea.

Nudging his way towards his teammate, the Spy struck up idle conversation. "What are all zhese infernal noises, Bushman?"

The Sniper glanced upwards, his concentration on Marian's map now broken. "Just birds, mate. Probably kookaburras. No biggie."

"Zhat is easy for you to say! Zhat sound I am hearing? Ze last time I heard zhat, I almost got decapitated by ze enemy Medic!" the Spy grumbled.

The Sniper shrugged. "The birds are hardly anythin' you should be worrin' about." He pointed up, idly laughing. "Whatever ya do, don't let the drop bears get ya. They tend ta land on yer head and dig around in yer skull for tasty bits."

The Spy frowned, searching for an animal that was not there. "You have got to be kidding."

"Maybe a touch," the Sniper smirked. "Just relax, would ya? Nothin's gonna hurt ya. 'Cept for maybe the snakes, 'a course. Or the spiders. Ya know, while I'm thinkin' about it, you moight want ta be careful if ya go for a swim on the beach later. Sharks, ya know. And little stingy jellyfish."

"Merde," the Spy sighed. "Anyzhing else I should be aware of?"

The Sniper rocked his head to the side. "I'll let ya know if I think of it."

Pushing further into the forest, Marian's group came across dozens of wonderful, unusual sites. A misplaced step from Toaster sent a pack of swamp wallabies into a panic. They bounced away, quick to go into hiding once more. Some small green bird skittered across the Spy's toes, unfazed by the stranger's shoes. Trees parted for twin lakes, waters a deep green from all the life in them. The sand from which the trees sprung was smooth and glassy, reflecting the canopy in its surface. If he was alone, perhaps the Spy would have found it restful. Hell, even if it was just him and the Sniper exploring, he could have found genuine peace.

Gentle murmuring and silence in the group did not hold for very long. The forest opened up once more, and everyone was on pins and needles to see what it would reveal. Instead of some marvel of nature, dilapidated remnants came into view. Part of it looked somewhat recent, perhaps no older than a decade. Fallen, rotted tents and ramshackle wooden buildings stood side by side. Amongst them were collapsed shreds of homes, easily hundreds of years old. The entire mess was overgrown by trees, the newest of which sprung from the center of the ruins. Lying amongst the clutter were axes, guns, and the remains of several dozen humans.

"Good Lord. What happened here?" Buckaroo pondered. He crossed himself as he set out amongst the dead.

Sensei was quick to follow him, poking his nose into whatever he could examine. He stopped at one set of remains. Most of the clothing had worn away, but enough shreds remained to identify these men as lumberjacks. They were men. He was certain of it. All of them had narrow pelvises. He wandered over to some of the ancient homes, then dug below the plants and sand. Nothing more than splinters of bone remained there.

All of the bones were peculiar. Toaster was quick to ask about this as he stood over the shoulder of the crouched doctor. "What's wrong with that?"

Sensei cocked his head. "Ah. Well, bones exposed to the elements will degrade after—"

"Not that!" Toaster poked his toe at one half of a skull. As he moved it, the bone caught a little light from a hole in the canopy. Despite the grime on it, the fragment shimmered like a roughly cut gemstone. It was subtle, but sure enough, it caught and dispersed light sharply.

Sensei frowned, the shook his head. "Maybe that was a decoration."

"Doc? Maybe ya should have a look at this." The Sniper waved the short doctor over. He nudged one of the lumberjack's remains. Beneath black, papery skin, his bones glimmered as well.

"I do not understand," Sensei replied. "We will have to study this."

The Spy tapped on his teammate's shoulder. "Sniper, zhat is not important right now."

The Sniper screwed up his face. "Shiny bones, Spy. It's a little weird, don't ya—oh."

At the Spy's insistence, the Sniper turned his attention away from the dead men at his feet. There, towards the west of the ruined encampment, were brightly hued trees. A mix of panic and excitement rushed through the group. It was the same Rainbow Gum species that they had seen in Lake Ritsa. What was more astounding was the sudden, massive flush of life behind them. Something gargantuan towered above them. At first, it looked like a bunch of trees had grown out of a hill. Upon close examination, it was clear that the ground was flat beneath it, muddy and runny with something a little thicker than water.

They all moved towards the massive growth. Limbs as large as oaks shot off from its sides. Its roots were thicker around than any man there, plunging up and down, braiding around each other. Its bark was deep, at least a foot thick. Leaves as large as their faces floated down, landing on their heads. The entire tree wound together, like some master feng shui artist had bound twelve or thirteen of the same tree together to create one monstrous Frankenstein of a plant.

That was not the most surprising part. Rather, it was the strange passageway that the winding roots created that shocked them the most. Marian was the first to step into it. Her guards followed next, then Toaster's group. The Sniper and the Spy brought up the rear. It was peculiar to go into the forest within the forest, to find bends that could fit humans easily. Had someone done this? Had the plant merely grown this way?

As they stepped inside of the plant, its last surprise revealed itself. Inside the winding leviathan was one last plant. It had grown inside the spiraling monstrosity, barely peeking its head above its natural barrier. Its bark was weak, rubbed away by its oozing sap. The stuff pooled from its tender body onto the ground. This sap was thick enough to weigh the sand down, going as deep as at least a meter.

They had found what had been called the Fountain of Youth.

Well, I love this story, and I know how much it bothers me when nobody responds to a new chapter, so here I am to comment!

I am really enjoying this story, mainly because it is not focused on romance and rather on other (less cliche and obvious) things. I wish I had more to say about what you could improve or do differently, but I do not. I hope you're satisfied with just having me as a happy and interested commenter.

"swoons and fawns of many a thick-mustached Australian woman"

I Lol'd

Been a long time since I've seen a beautiful, nice and long finished story on here. I can't wait for the ending! Please keep it up.

Thank you, guys. I really do appreciate knowing that you enjoy this.

Here's a fresh batch of...something special for you.

/***/

There was a tremendous roar as most of the men in Marian's group cheered. The Sniper and the Spy were not amongst them. They were quiet, pondering their fate. Now, finally, they would be able to go home. Their teammates would grill them for information, no doubt. The Administrator in particular would want to know every last detail about this plant. That was, of course, assuming that she wouldn't massacre them for their absence. Discovering an object of legend like this? How could it not change the world?

Hell, what would it do to them?

Marian was calm, letting her men have their moment to celebrate. When one tried running for the pooled sap, however, she threw out a hand and stopped him. "Be patient, would you? We need to approach this logically."

The Spy raised an eyebrow. "Logically?"

"Of course. You never release a product to your market without testing it first." She turned her attention to the Spy, a devilish smile already formed on her lips. "After all, every place that has had this kind of tree has also had several corpses around it. If this works, then fine. If it's a lethal agent, however? Well, I'll still want it, but I'd rather see what it does first."

"Don't make such a bloody big deal outta it. Just scoop some of it up, take it back ta Brisbane, then do yer tests. Ya brought some containers, right?" Boomer grunted.

Marian nodded. "It would have been foolish not to have some way to hold samples. All the same, I'd rather test here. Cities have a bad way of leaking information, you know? I'd rather not have anyone else find this—whatever this is."

The Sniper frowned, then rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "How do ya propose on doin' this?"

Marian laughed once, then playfully whacked the Sniper in the chest. "You are such a romantic." She stood in the front of her men, eyeing them over. Obviously, running this test against the only doctor in the group would be moronic. She needed some of her guards for transporting the liquid, but some could be spared. That left three of Toaster's group, a few of her guards, and the Spy and Sniper as potential test subjects. Well, she knew which one would have to follow her orders. She grinned as she made her decision.

"You will do," she said, pointing at the Spy.

The Spy remained cold as she chose him, his face frozen. He was not enthused to be selected as a guinea pig. If this was a fatal substance, so be it. He would wake up in the nearest team base, no worse for wear. Still, his death would create some complications. The first would be how Marian's group would react when his body disappeared fifteen seconds after his death. The second would be what they would do to the Sniper. He did not want to leave the Australian trapped on an island full of poisonous life and people. The potential for his harm was too great. The Spy imagined that his team would be irritated with him, as well. The worst problem was the fate of his paramour. If she was at home, tending to her garden and cheerfully whistling through her day, then he would rush to her and protect her from Marian's forces at all costs. Both of them would strike back. If she wasn't there—if Marian had taken her somewhere—

There were things more horrible than being trapped in an island jungle. The venom of the civilized world could be more lethal.

All the same, he could not refuse. He could die and come back. Not that Marian knew that, but it was one privilege he had above most of the men here. If he made a fuss, Marian would make a call. That could be it for his petite. He had to protect his lady above all things. If that meant dying and leaving his teammates to the mercy of villains, then he'd do exactly that. No one would accuse him of being a coward by taking a bullet. The Sniper would not call him a traitor for abandoning him on the island to save his loved one. Even so, he felt vile and sick.

"Fine," the Spy consented.

There was a warm hand on his right shoulder. The Spy turned to find his teammate grimacing. A dozen objections were behind that frown. He remained quiet. The Spy put his hand over the Sniper's, giving it two soft pats. The Sniper squeezed his shoulder, then released his friend. That was a strange quality about the Sniper. He had a strong voice and enough peppered words to make any argument. His most compelling protests were always done with his hands, through small gestures. Neither man had to speak their concern for the other. It was communicated well enough.

The Spy approached the meter-deep pool lying beneath the tree. He pulled the gloves off his hands, plucking each off by the fingertips. They were the last of his attire from Teufort, now tucked into a satchel on his hip. He knelt down next to the substance, observing it for one moment. The liquid was an eerie blue-green color, splotched in the distribution of its pigment. He ran his bare fingers through the pool. They did not burn. The liquid resisted, being a substance closer to half-formed gelatin in texture than water. There was no immediate change in his hands, but he could feel them tingling.

"Should I jump in, or should I drink?" the Spy asked.

Marian shrugged. "How's your hand doing?"

"Just fine," the Spy said.

"Okay. That should do for external testing," Marian replied. "Go ahead and drink it."

The Spy sighed. That was easy for her to say. He hesitated, studying his reflection in the pool. It was muddled by the unclear quality of the liquid, but he could see himself. He mapped his features one last time, trying to make notes of his aging. How far back would this take him? Surely it wouldn't turn him into a child. That would be preposterous.

There was only one way to find out.

The Spy cupped his hands, scooping up the substance. Stomping down any last-minute protests from his brain, he swallowed it. The taste was bitter, tainted with the contents of the plant. He clicked his tongue, grimacing for a moment. The liquid ran through his chest like a cold rush of water. It settled in his stomach, a small icy ball burning away.

He could feel the moment the liquid hit his bloodstream. Its contents snaked through his arteries, rushing to every organ at once. He was seized up by a cold blast. He stumbled backwards, his sinuses throbbing with its intensity. An arm was around his shoulder as he collapsed, but he was too scrambled to get his eyes to focus. His brain was trapped in a numbed body, every part of him trembling and shifting. Even his bones felt like malleable dough, icy needles prickling every last nerve.

As soon as the chills had run their course, a burst of heat scorched through his skin. Hot sweat rolled off him. It felt like heavy water as it splashed away. His gut contracted, his teeth vibrated. He spat little chunks of metal out of his mouth. His fillings, no doubt. He lifted his head as his thoughts cleared up. The liquid had repaired his teeth. That was strange. He exhaled, his breath hotter than jungle steam. He kept breathing, each pant colder than the last.

The Spy slumped backwards, head resting on the chest of the man who had caught him in his exhaustion. He didn't need to open his eyes to know who it was. He latched his fingers into a solid leather vest, pulling himself upright as he fought to regain his consciousness. He rolled his head up. His eyes were coated in a thin layer of muck, but he blinked it away. He fumbled for a handkerchief in his pocket, but found it missing. The Sniper had already snatched up and was busy wiping sweat away from his face.

"How do I look?" the Spy asked, managing to catch a glimpse of his friend through new eyes and the constant patting at his brow.

The Sniper paused, handing the Spy his handkerchief. His eyes were wide, his face pulled into a worried frown. Despite his concern, he managed to make a smile. He had no mirror for the Spy. All he had was his kukri. He passed the blade to the Spy. The Frenchman tilted the broad side towards himself. There, in clean metal, he found himself staring at a man he had not seen since World War II.

His silver streaks were gone. That was the first change the Spy noticed. Knicks from shaving had disappeared. The crow's feet that were just beginning to appear around his eyes had vanished. He moved his eyebrows up and down, noticing the way his forehead didn't wrinkle like it used to. He opened his mouth, seeing how his teeth had repaired themselves. He glanced over his arms, cuts gone. Lifting his shirt, he sought to find a stab wound that he had earned one dark night over twenty years ago. It was no more.

He was a new man.

The Japanese doctor and the mad American businesswoman quickly joined the two. Sensei made the same deductions as the Spy had, his jaw dropped just a touch as he investigated what had happened. Marian was pleased. She studied the Spy's face, murmuring. "Reduced pore size. Distinct return of color in the hair. Stronger skin elasticity." She whistled once. "I think it worked."

"It would be a good idea to take various tissue samples, don't you think?" Sensei asked Marian. "Skin, tissue, blood, bone marrow—it is best to check these through."

Marian agreed. "Not a bad idea. When we get back to Brisbane, we'll do that." She produced a journal, then began writing information down. "Any side-effects, Monsieur? Other than the obvious, of course."

"Zhere is some dizziness. A slight bit of nausea." Despite the Spy's tiredness, he managed to push himself onto his feet. All things considered, his legs felt stronger than before. "If it is all ze same to you, I would like to rest for a moment."

Marian nodded. "Alright. Fair's fair." She nodded towards the rest of her subjects. "The rest of you are up."

Most of them were enthusiastic, eager to undergo the same miraculous process the Spy had. The Sniper was a little more hesitant. As a handful of the guards and most of Toaster's group bounded towards the pool, the Sniper doted more on the Spy. "Need some help out, mate?"

"I should be fine," the Spy replied. The Sniper's anxiety did not elude him. Of course the Australian was panicked. He spent the past couple of minutes watching his friend melt into some person he barely could recognize. That had to create some uncomfortable feelings, at the very least. The Spy placed his hand against the Sniper's back. "Take your canteen. Fill it, zhen come wizh me. We can go outside."

If the Spy's suggestion was objectionable, Marian didn't say anything. She was too enthralled watching the other men around her. The Sniper agreed to the Spy's plan. He took his canteen, then poured the last few drops of clean water away. Finding fresh water in a jungle was not a problem for him. He filled his canteen, shivering at the first contact with the liquid. Screwing the cap on, the Sniper stood up once more. He offered the Spy his help, and the Spy took it. Both men wandered outside of the tree.

They took a few paces outside of the massive plant before settling down in the ruined encampment. They found the most covered building, one with half of its roof still on. The Spy crouched next to the molding doorframe, the Sniper quick to settle next to him. The Australian cracked open the canteen, hesitating for a moment. He frowned once more.

"It'll be okay, yeah?" the Sniper asked.

The Spy nodded. "I survived. So will you."

There was no more faltering. The Sniper threw back the canteen, drinking its contents in one go. He growled, finding the taste as disgusting as the Spy had. At least the Frenchman had the experience needed to guide the Sniper through this process. He spoke softly as his friend began to lose focus. "You will feel some tingling. Zhere will be coldness. It will pass. Do you feel it?"

The Sniper murmured, his tongue heavy. "Yeah."

"Alright. Lie down." The Spy pressed a hand on the Sniper's shoulder. He forced his teammate onto his left side. "Zhere will be warmth. You will feel as zhough you are melting. It, too, will go. Are you wizh me?"

All the Sniper could manage was a slight nod. His eyes were half-opened, hypnotized by the Spy's quiet words and the burning washing through him. They closed, the fevered waters now rushing into every organ. His skin prickled, goose bumps quick to follow. He gave a low sigh. Sweat rolled from his pores. The Spy sat up, watching as an unnatural golden sweat poured from the Sniper. Was that why the Sniper had been cleaning him? He plucked his handkerchief out of his pocket, then studied it. His mopped sweat shimmered in the cloth. Why did it do that?

Taking the other side of the handkerchief, he brushed sweat away from the Sniper's face. "Zhere. Très bon. You are doing well." He didn't think about what he was murmuring to his teammate. The transformation was peculiar to watch. The Sniper had his fingers curled, digging into the ground to find some stability. Every part of him was tense, coiled. Heat escaped him in rolls of sweat, his old visage cascading away with it. He gave a strong cough, then a growl. The Spy lifted his head. Was it almost done?

Another cough escaped the Sniper before the Spy realized what he was hearing. That wasn't normal. Before he could react, the Sniper had propped himself onto his elbows. There was one more awful sound, then the Sniper's stomach tensed. Golden, wet slop left his mouth. The heavy vomit splattered onto the ground in a thick, nauseating squelch. The Spy's gag reflex almost triggered at the sight. The Sniper regurgitated once more, spitting the last of the substance out of his throat.

He collapsed. It was all the Spy could do to keep him from landing in his own sick. He pulled the Sniper to his side, cleaning the remnants of the vomit away from his face. It was the same eerie color as his sweat. The Sniper's chest heaved twice, but nothing came of the action. He opened his eyes, blinking away golden mucus.

The voice that came from the Sniper's throat was not the one that the Spy recognized. It was not the deep tone of a smoking, smartass assassin. It was the whisper of a young farmhand. "Spy?"

The Spy's skin shivered in the sweltering heat. "Yes, Bushman?"

"Issat it?" the Sniper slurred. His eyelids were heavy, threatening to close once more.

"I zhink you are done," the Spy replied. He held the Sniper upright, his face too fresh, clean from the long scar across his left cheek and the bags under his eyes. "Mundy, are you—"

Howls from the jungle stopped him. It was not that of any wild animal. They were confused, low and high, shrieks, screams, and bellows. They were human. A childish, terrified emotion swept both men. They clung to each other for a moment, fingers wrapped into each other's shirt, around lively ribs and new skin. This horror had both men frozen.

Something had happened to the others.

"We should…" the Sniper huffed. His energy was gone, his mouth unable to form the last of his sentence. All the same, the Spy knew what he was going to say.

He grabbed his teammate's right hand, one too smooth, free of calloused skin. "Stay here. Keep awake."

The Sniper nodded, leaning himself against the remnants of the wooden building. Another painful roar made both men cringe. It took all the strength left in the Spy's mind to leave his sick teammate lying in that rotting building. He couldn't abandon him for long. Neither of them had the strength to be apart from each other. There was no fight in them now. It was washed away, slow to be replenished. All it would take was one wrong animal, one well-placed bullet—

The Spy shoved himself through the folds of the gargantuan tree one more. The hot stink of bile and sweat rushed over him. There were new faces among the throng, men he couldn't recognize. That was not what struck a cold bolt of terror in his spine. There were men on the ground. Sensei was prodding around one, his cheerful visage now blanched and frozen. The Spy pushed his way through the guards, finding Marian with the same horrified expression. He stared at the motionless men. All of them were covered in golden liquid, features distorted and gnarled. Their throats were distended. Some had managed to expel some vomit from them, but they had all been choked in the end, slain by internal asphyxiation from their own solid stomach contents.

The Spy's blood ran cold, the howling intensifying around them. He caught Toaster's cry in the cacophony. More powerful and more terrifying than that were the quiet words coming from the mouth of Buckaroo. The fallen preacher's murmurings were familiar, words that the Spy knew by heart. Latin and English fell together, desperate prayers trying to reach someone out of space and time, past any bounds of reality. They were last rites, one final plea for mercy.

Boomer was one of the dead.

HOLY SHIT am I scared now. Oh god what the hell is happening.

AAHHHHHHHH
WHAT IS GOING OOOON
This fic is the GREATEST.

I'm having a bit of a problem trying to imagine the young sniper and young spy. How many years did they go back? About how old are they now?

Shit got real. Aaaah, I'm on the edge of my seat here.

Do I ever love love love this story! Ooh I hope we'll get to see what, why and how soon!

Wonder how Scout's mom is going to take the fact that her paramour is now younger than her youngest son. Awkward.

>>75 It's going to be interesting. No doubt about it.

Well, I can't live up to the previous chapter. Guess I'll have to withdraw the knife for a chapter. Ya know, so I have it for the next one.

/***/

"Looks like we've got a storm rollin' in."

The helicopter's pilot was right. The Engineer peeked out one side of the chopper, his eyes scanning the horizon behind dark lenses. Thick blue clouds were building around them. He glanced down, his stomach rolling with the tide several meters below his feet. Roads and beaches looked like stripes of grey and cream. Automobiles were no larger than toys, trees no bigger than weeds. The view made him feel powerful. His chest swelled, his confidence rising.

They were going to do this. They were finally going to rescue the Spy and the Sniper.

"Probably shouldn't be up here with ya bunch 'a bastards," the helicopter's pilot growled. He brushed back a loose strand of hair, his golden ponytail accidentally whipping the Heavy in the back of the head. "Sorry 'bout that, mate. My hair's got a moind 'a its own."

"If it gets smart, it will come live on my head!" the Heavy laughed.

The pilot gave a hearty roar back. "If ya would have taken care 'a yers, ya wouldn't have ta steal moine!"

The rest of the helicopter's passengers were preparing for their landing. Their nerves were on edge. Nobody wanted to waste any time piddling around in a thick forest, stumbling around spiders, snakes, and whatever of Charles Darwin's demons had survived out there. The Engineer had his toolbox below his seat, his face buried in a crude map of the island. He had a series of dots placed on it. Each fresh coordinate was closer to the last, showing that the group had slowed down. Good. They'd be easier to catch.

The Pyro was amusing himself with a lighter, ignoring the sun as ran its daily course to the west. The Medic was similarly in his own world. He fussed with the controls on his medigun's backpack. Every valve and button was cleaned, every vent cleared. Fluid levels for the pack were filled to the brim. He turned to the Heavy, giving the Russian a perfect grin. The Heavy returned a smile, giving the minigun on his lap a soft pat. They would chew and burn through that forest, if they had to. They were ready for it.

"How much longer until we're there?" the Engineer asked.

"'Bout an hour. Keep yer pants on," the pilot replied.

The Engineer smiled. That was going to be plenty of time. "Alright. Give us a yell when we're in range. I'm settin' up back here."

The pilot raised an eyebrow. "Settin' up? What, ya got a card party goin' on?"

"No cards," the Engineer replied. He tipped his toolbox open, quick to draw his self-deploying dispenser kit. He pulled a heavy wrench from the box as well. Its weight felt good, reassuring. He beamed, a smile more natural on the Soldier's face starting to creep onto his own. "There will be a party, though."

"Somethin' tells me I should have charged ya blokes more for insurance," the pilot said.

/***/

The second group of the team from New Mexico sat poised outside of a silvery, shiny building. Miss Pauling had been able to secure a rental vehicle for the group. It was like the Medic's Kombi, if the German had been completely negligent to its care. The undercarriage was threatening to rust away at any moment. There were chips in the windshield from when rocks had been thrown into it. The important thing about the vehicle was its ability to hide. Sitting quietly in a back alleyway, turned off, metal bits falling off of it—it was junk, for all intents and purposes. People ignored garbage much easier than they disregarded the clean and fancy.

"Wish we would have rented somethin' with better seats," the Demoman muttered.

The Soldier gave a low chuckle. "Bucket seats make your ass stronger. Everyone knows this."

Miss Pauling raised her head. "I've never heard that in my life."

"It's a fact. I'm sure of it. Backed up by science," the Soldier replied.

The Demoman shook his head, rolling his one good eye. "Right-o." He leaned forward, glancing around the street. "Anyone see a food joint 'round here? I'm thinkin' about grabbin' some take-out."

The Scout shook his head. "Nah, man. I'd kill for a burger right now."

"I don't know about that, lad. The Sniper kept makin' jokes 'bout kangaroo burgers." The Demoman shivered at the thought. "Ya don't think Australians really eat them hoppy rats, do ya?"

"No. That's incorrect. They eat horses," the Soldier corrected the Demoman.

"Blarney!" the Demoman exclaimed.

The Scout crossed his arms, sighing. "Man, I know Australians are weird, but seriously, Jane? Everyone knows dat horses are good for only one thing, and dat's ridin'. Not eatin'."

Miss Pauling wanted to believe that what she was hearing was some side-effect of not getting enough rest or a reaction to drinking foreign water. Leave it to her men to find some inane topic to argue about. If they got any louder, they were sure to be spotted, crappy van or not. She leaned onto the dash, resting her head on her arms. All this talk about food was starting to get to her too. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to leave for a few moments. It wasn't like the other team was going to be in any position to help them for some time. If they had to strike, then they'd have to wait to—

She lifted her head. "Gentlemen. Look."

The three teammates stopped their squabbles. They glanced out of the van's windshield. A sharply-cut black car had pulled in front of Marian's building. One burly man stepped out of the driver's seat. His companion in the shotgun position was just as massive. Both were dressed in striking suits, the pocket emblazoned with a five-thorned and five-petalled rose.

The team kept quiet as the two men entered the building. The Scout pressed a hand to his earpiece. He glanced over to a fire hydrant across the street. There was a small device attached to it. It was no larger than a penny, bearing features no more interesting than a cell battery's appearance. It was a miniature receiver, something the Engineer had given to them before they'd headed out. He had been testing out the earpiece and receiver with the Sniper and Spy, but theirs had gone missing when they had been kidnapped. This was more or less their spare, and consequently, their last.

The Scout kept quiet as the two men chattered away across the street. "Told you we weren't gonna find that damn shoe."

"Well, goddamnit, Flint. Where in the hell do you think it went?" the man from the shotgun seat cursed.

"I wouldn't worry about it. Someone probably just threw it out," Flint replied. "Not the end of the world. After all, she's got another."

That drew a dark laugh from Mister Shotgun. "Not like she's going dancing tonight, anyway!"

The Scout slipped the headset off as the two men went inside of the large building. A fresh wave of rage coursed through him. He nearly crushed the earpiece in his hands. Tossing them aside, he dove for his sports bag full of weaponry. He couldn't wait. Not anymore.

Miss Pauling reached out for the Scout's arm. "What is it?"

"Bastards got my ma! She's in dere!" the Scout hissed.

The Demoman raised his eyebrows. "What did they say 'boot her?"

The Scout fumed as he stomped towards the front of the van. "Some smart-ass comment 'bout dancin'!" He pressed his hands against the sides of his head. "I can't wait for da odders. I gotta get her!"

"Son, settle down." For a man with little sense in his head, the Soldier made a wise argument. "If we blow into there before the others get back, then we'll lose the element of surprise. We will put our mission and possibly your mother at risk."

The Scout's hands shook. "What are you sayin', man? We're not plannin' an attack. Dis is a goddamn rescue mission. We get da Spy, da Sniper, and my ma, and den we go home, right? So we do dat, and we do it now!"

"Scout, we understand. Your mother is a wonderful woman, and we don't want anything bad to happen to her." Miss Pauling put her left hand on the Scout's shoulder. "We're not dealing with a door to door cosmetics peddler. Miss Grey has God-knows-what for weapons behind those doors. One wrong move, and your mother could meet a terrible fate. We need to be calculated, cool, and collected. Do you understand? We can't attract any attention."

Miss Pauling's words sparked a storm in the Scout's mind. He grinned deviously. "So, what you're sayin' is dat we need a suave, cool guy ta sneak past the cameras and save gals, right? Like da Spy?"

"Preciously," Miss Pauling agreed.

"Tell ya what," the Scout smirked. "Give me a rock, a baseball bat, and two minutes, and I'll get ya somethin' even da Spy could use."

/***/

There was nothing he could do.

No man told the Spy this. He didn't deduce this by any logical means. It came to him as he sat shivering beneath the ruins of a hut, his friend resting at his side. The natural machinations of the island whispered dreadful words into his ear. Sweltering humidity brought cold rain, then thunder. The Sniper shivered beside him, still struggling against the effects of the tree's waters. He would survive. He was still that stubborn bushman, somewhere beneath that soft, youthful face. The Spy did not know if such strong character was within him. He relied so much on manipulation and fleeting luck. With nothing to change and no fortune in his grasp, he felt empty.

They were waiting for Sensei to come check them. The little Japanese man had been busy tending to other patients. There were so many men that needed help. Several had died, including that ox of an Australian that had been the doctor's friend. That sum of people was nothing compared to the men that hadn't quite bounced back from their rejuvenation. All things considered, perhaps the Spy was the lucky one. He was the only one who had undergone the miraculous transformation without severe nausea or a fever.

The Sniper lifted his head from the Spy's side. "They 'bout ready, ya think?"

The Spy glanced at the unchanged members of their group. They were filling up jugs with tree sap. Marian's samples, no doubt. She certainly was taking a large amount of the stuff. "I zhink we still have some time."

"Did ya get any 'a that?" the Sniper asked.

The Spy nodded. "I refilled your canteen. We can smuggle it to ze Medic, non? See what he can do wizh it."

The Sniper laughed. "When did ya do that, ya sneak?"

There was a pause as the Spy collected his composure. He placed an arm around the Sniper's shoulders. "When you were asleep."

"…Oh. Sorry, mate." The Sniper leaned his head back. Rain rushed down the brim of his hat. He closed his eyes, his tired smile missing his laugh lines. "Should try harder. Like a concussion, roight? Don't want…don't wanna fall asleep, yeah?"

The Spy grimaced. The Sniper was always like this when he was sick or hurt. He'd simply lie down and sleep it off. Sometimes, he'd even go to sleep in the middle of a firefight. Maybe it was some kind of laziness on his part, but it usually did the trick. Both of their bodies had been through some phenomenal changes in the past few hours. The Spy could use some rest, too. He couldn't close his eyes. Dark shadows were lying in the back of his mind, waiting to pounce on him the moment he let his guard down. He couldn't let them snatch him. Staying awake was keeping him from ripping himself apart.

"If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me," the Spy murmured.

The Sniper shook his head. "Don't…don't be like that. None 'a this is yer fault."

The Spy grimaced. "She is my—what I mean is—" He frowned, surprised to find his tongue lagging. "I stayed because I had to. I had no choice. You did not have to stay on my account."

"It's not loike I didn't try ta get away in Egypt," the Sniper replied. He straightened his back, then leaned forward. "I'm sorry I tried ta run. I just saw 'em, ya know? Our team. I hope we didn't lose 'em."

"Zhey are loyal. Stupid, sometimes, but loyal," the Spy said. He rubbed his friend's shoulder, speaking lowly. "Zhey at least had enough intelligence to find us ze first time. Zhey can do it again."

Another long smile escaped the Sniper. "We've gotta stick together, yeah? That's why I'm here, Spy."

The two men sat together in silence. The Sniper was nodding off again, slouched against the Spy. In other circumstances, the Spy would have been irritated. The weight on his shoulder was keeping him grounded in reality. This situation was grim. It could have been worse, though. The person at his side could have been his paramour, dying from the same test. He could have lost the Sniper. The level of anger from that alone could have been enough to make him snap. He had his mind, his tools, his friends, and his lover. Perhaps that was enough.

Fallen leaves and twigs crunched under the appearance of a visitor. The Spy turned his attention to the dark, crestfallen figure standing in the dilapidated doorway. It was Toaster. His hands were covered in mud, his pants and jacket similarly stained. His jaw was clenched shut. He gave both men sitting on the ground a hard glare, like if he was contemplating strangling the life out of them. His face fell. He sat down across from the duo, then lowered his head, running his filthy fingers through his rain-soaked, choppy hair.

Both the Sniper and the Spy waited for Toaster to speak. It took some time, but the man finally undid a knot in his throat. "I wish it would have been one of you assholes."

"We know," the Spy nodded. It was not what he wanted to hear, but he knew that Toaster was hurting. If he wanted to say such slander, then the Spy would let him. It was better than having the American manifest that killer impulse behind his tired eyes. He was younger now, his face missing gentle wrinkles and scars. With his sorrow, he looked so much older, as if the sap had no effect on him.

Toaster let a hiss escape through his teeth. He spoke slowly, careful not to let his veneer crack any further. "He…he's out here, now. I helped Buckaroo put him under. Didn't go too deep, but…I suppose that won't matter."

The Sniper lifted his head. "He didn't have any family back home?"

"Nah. They…they're all gone." A sardonic laugh escaped the broken American. "Just thought it would have been an animal or a gunshot. Not a damn plant."

Neither the Sniper nor the Spy knew what to say. It had been a long time since they had dealt with a genuine death. They were used to being stabbed, shot, bludgeoned, and splattered, but this was a rare case. In the face of true death, they were silent. The Sniper gave the Spy a solemn glance. He forced himself onto his feet, then sat down alongside Toaster. It was a dangerous move, given the American's brash nature and frustration. When he didn't move, the Spy joined them, flanking the American on his other side. The three sat together silently as Toaster wept and spat obscenities at the ground.

It did not take long for Sensei to appear. He gave the trio a quick once-over. "Ah. I must admit, I did not expect to find you here, Toasta-dachi."

"Thought I told you to stop calling me that," Toaster grunted. He leaned back, letting his arms rest between his knees. "Just hangin' out with the only bastards on this place that aren't gonna try killin' us."

"Perhaps it is good for you to be with company right now. Please excuse me." Sensei crouched down next to the Spy. He flashed a small light, tracking the motion of the Spy's eyeballs. He put one hand to the Spy's head, examining his scalp. Flicking the Spy's joints, he tested his reflexes. It did not take him long to take the Spy's pulse, nor for him to figure out his body temperature. "You are doing better than most, I think."

"What are your criteria for zhat?" the Spy asked.

Sensei tipped the Sniper's head back, giving him the same tests. "Most of the men who have drank from the tree's waters? Dame. Some dead, as you know. Some, very ill. There are some peculiar side effects, don't you think?"

"Can't say I was fond of the pukin'," the Sniper agreed. He closed an eye as the doctor ruffled through his hair. "What are ya lookin' for up there?"

The doctor plucked a hair from the top of the Sniper's head. He presented the strand root-first to the Australian. "You see that?"

The Sniper's eyes widened. At the bottom of his dark hair was a golden band. It was as if someone had dyed just the slightest bit of his roots. The Spy pushed the Sniper's hat back, observing the phenomenon for himself. Golden roots. It was beautiful, in an eerie way.

"Do I have zhose as well?" the Spy asked.

"Everyone who drank has this. However, your manifestations are weaker than others," Sensei replied. He tipped his head to the side. "Strange, don't you think? So much gold. What should we call these symptoms? I would suggest Kin-No-Mizu, but that would only cover the sweating and vomiting effects. I doubt it's actually gold, but—"

Pieces fell together in the Spy's head. Seeing his teammate's hair beneath his slouch hat rolled the thought into the Frenchman's mind. No, it couldn't be gold. That didn't make sense. The human body wouldn't have enough gold in it to produce this much of an effect. There was another element, though. One in mass use by several people in the greatest of the first-world countries.

"All of ze victims…ze ones with ze greatest reactions…" The Spy let his thoughts flow. "What were zhey?"

Sensei was quick to answer him. "Male. Young to middle aged adult. In good physical health. Mostly Caucasian. A couple of the dead were Amerikajin, but for the most part—"

"Zhey were Australian," the Spy finished Sensei's words.

The doctor gave him a short nod. The Spy's deduction had to be correct. He leapt to his feet, his heart fluttering. It made sense. Emitted fluids were golden. Most of those who had died were Australian. Not just any kind of Aussie, though. Strapping, strong men, big enough to bare-knuckle box any feral animal on the planet. They weren't like the Sniper, a man of a lanky build. That was the reason he had survived. They had been from the city, and he'd been a desert man. A farmer's son. A man away from Australia's most profitable and widely-used element.

"I've got to stop Marian," the Spy said. "If she takes zhat fluid to Brisbane, she'll poison ze city."

The Sniper lifted his head towards the Spy. "Spook?"

The Spy revealed his conclusion. "Zhat sap reacts to Australium."

Scout to the rescue!

I'm running out of ways to say I love this chapter and can't wait for the next one.

Captcha: "BARTENDING LyORDS" I didn't know the combination bartender/lyord even existed!

Anyway, I loved the australium twist on the sap, I really loved that explanation. Not far fetched, but not really 'duhhh' either, if you know what I mean. I'm also digging the friendship that Spy and Sniper are building up through all this. I think it shows how lonely Sniper really is, as he is willing to go so far for Spy at the risk of his life.

Can't wait for the next chapter!

Oh, crap. Something big's going to happen tomorrow, and I haven't updated!

Well, time to do this.

/***/

Adrenaline coursed through the men's veins. Each one reacted differently to the Spy's deduction. Toaster was livid, set alight with energy and burning passion. Sensei was mortified, knowing what the Spy had said was true. He did not know the best way to prevent others from falling to the same fate as Boomer without endangering the lives of those that remained. The Sniper remained calm, even with his nerves trembling at the Spy's words. His teammates and fellow countrymen relied on him keeping composed. Once a plan was formulated, he could execute it. That left the Spy. As always, he had a mask and personality prepared for keeping his emotional impulses under control. Not that he didn't dread what was to come, but he needed to lead. It was his conclusion, after all. He had to push them towards a solution for their problem.

The Spy began rallying the men. "If you have a course of action to take, now would be the time."

"Look, we've gotta stop this bitch!" Toaster pounded his fist into an open palm. "Let me at her. I don't like hitting women, but in this case, I can make an exception."

"Your misogyny is derisible, Toaster. Besides, fighting would not be in our best interests. Between your remaining men, ze Sniper, and myself, we are only a team of five. Zhat is hardly enough to take on both Marian and her guards," the Spy replied.

The Japanese doctor was quick to turn the brainstorming from picking through the group's noodles to reflecting the Spy's mind. "What do you propose on doing, then? It would just be as difficult to take a peaceful route. I doubt you are planning on letting our mutual employer leave the island with that toxin."

"No. Zhat would be the worst possible event." The Spy paced around the crumbling hut. His shoes stuck to the ground as he shuffled about. He paused in midstride, placing a hand on his satchel. Did he even have all of his tools? He'd packed a revolver and a knife, as well as his golden watch. His disguise kit was tucked into one of the satchel's front pockets, his sapper buried at the bottom of the bag. Rubbing his hand against the buckles and straps, he felt a ball chain. Dangling from that was one more watch, a peculiar pocket piece with an engraved hummingbird on its surface.

Of all of the men on his side, he was the only one who could screw up and get at least one immediate second chance.

The Spy frowned. "I have a plan, but I guarantee zhat you will not like it."

"Spill yer guts, mate." The Sniper smiled, encouraging the Spy.

"I'm going to have a conversation wizh Marian. Perhaps I can persuade her to leave zhis discovery on ze island. She may be mad, but she is capable of comprehending basic logic." The Spy straightened his back, placing his folded hands over the base of his spine. "If I pitch it to her, zhen—"

Toaster cocked his head. "What, like an advertiser? You think she'll listen to marketing crap?"

The Spy raised one finger, then shook it. "Zhat will only be a distraction. If she relents, zhen we will have nozhing to worry about. However, I will need ze rest of you to carry out the rest of my plan. My good American friend, I will need you to escort your men and ze Sniper out to her helicopter. If she runs, zhen take over ze helicopter at any cost. Do not let zhat foul poison off zhis island."

The Sniper balked at the Spy's plan. He pulled himself upright, his head spinning just a touch. "Spy, ya can't be serious. Ya'll be left alone! I can't—"

Placing one hand on the Sniper's shoulder, the Spy murmured softly. "Sniper. I understand ze risks." He sighed, giving the Australian room to fight him.

The Sniper growled, his sharp teeth reflecting a distant flash of lightning. A painful roll bubbled in the pit of his stomach. Damned Frenchman. After all these days of being hauled around by the neck, he had come to depend on the Spy's company. He was the only one left from his current life that had his back. He'd had every last companion taken from him. Losing the Spy was unacceptable. He couldn't be left alone and broken on that island.

He exhaled, his breath low and quiet, his spirit worn. "Still got my rifle. I'll lead us east. If ya don't meet us there, then I swear ta God—"

"Zhen you take zhem east. Stop zhat helicopter." The Spy patted the Sniper's shoulder twice, then rubbed the left side of his neck. "I am depending on you, mon ami."

Toaster jumped back into the conversation. "Look, pal. Marian's not the kind of gal to return anything she considers to be her property. She's probably—no, definitely not gonna listen to you."

"I will not risk ze lives of anyone here, including Miss Grey. Not without due cause, at any rate. Now, are you wizh me on zhis?" the Spy asked.

Both Toaster and Sensei gave each other a glance. Sensei was at ease, his face kept in his standard neutral expression. Toaster was not so hot with the plan. He gritted his teeth, wishing he could whip out an automatic rifle and tear the encampment apart with his hands. He had nothing on him, save for a lighter and his clothes. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his heart contracting painfully. If Boomer was here, he wouldn't be hesitating. Hell, he wouldn't even put up with the Spy's pacifist nonsense.

They had no choice but to play along. At least, for a few minutes. Toaster nodded, "Sure. Whatever. I'm gonna fetch Buckaroo. He should be done puttin' men in the dirt by now." He stood up, then stormed out without a second word. Sensei frowned, but did not speak his most concerning thoughts. He crossed his arms, then stood side by side with the Sniper.

"We will wait for ya on the east side 'a the camp, then," the Sniper said.

"Good man." The Spy sighed, his own dark feelings troubling him. Toaster was right. He was no fool. All the same, his plan was worth one shot. He addressed his teammate once more. "Hear me out, Sniper. If somezhing terrible should go wrong—"

The Sniper winced. "Mate, it ain't—"

The Spy shushed the Sniper. "Hear me out, Bushman. If I fail, you need to find what Marian did to my petite. Protect her above anyzhing else."

There were no words of protest from the Sniper. He nodded, quick to agree. She was the only reason either man was standing on this island, risking their health and lives for some catastrophic power. Every murder and theft they had done was to spare her from any threat. If the Spy was blasted back to Teufort, then the Sniper would have to escape and find her before Marian could harm her. To lose her would be as great of a failure as any disaster that could come from the sap of this island.

The Sniper raised a hand. "Ready?"

"Mas oui." The Spy slapped his teammate's open palm.

It was a great number of seconds before either teammate could part ways. The Spy turned first, quick to go complete his task. The Sniper slipped after him, stride unsteady. Sensei followed him in turn. They slipped into a tangled mess of plant life, sneaking past workers and guards. It was not long until they were free from the vision of her guards. The Sniper shrugged his rifle off his back, snapping off his laser sight once more. He sank to the ground, then gave the earth a few soft taps. Sensei crouched beside them. Both men waited for a sign, hoping they did not have to run.

The Spy lost track of them as he focused on hunting Marian down. It did not take long to find her. She was directing a group of men towards the exit of the camp. Hopefully, they would not come across the Sniper with his weapon drawn. He could not worry about that right now. He had to take care of her first.

"Ah, Marian! Zhere you are," the Spy greeted his kidnapper.

Marian smiled, happy to see the Spy. She had been fiddling with some kind of long-range radio. "Ah! Monsieur Spy." She tipped her head, then frowned. "You must be getting drenched out here. It's a good thing you didn't wear your suit out here."

"Oui. Zhat, I can agree to. However, zhere are some topics zhat I find myself opposed to you on." The Spy frowned, giving a plastic jug a quick glance.

"Oh. I see," Marian grumbled. She knew exactly what the Spy was getting at. She turned her radio off, placing the receiver into a leather pouch on her hip. "I figured you were going to talk to me about this at some point. I suppose you know what I'm going to say as well. So, why don't we just skip this conversation?"

The Spy furrowed his eyebrows. "You know zhat I cannot do zhis. Tell me—what do you zhink happened to your men?"

Marian shrugged, raising her hands in confusion. "People have allergic reactions all the time."

"Allergies? You zhink zhis was somezhing so simple?" The Spy pinched his nose, quick to recollect himself. He couldn't let himself get so frustrated. "Ze good doctor and I have discussed ze symptoms. In our opinions, we believe ze observed fatalities were due to zhis substance reacting to Australium."

Marian's eyes widened, genuinely surprised. Could the Spy be correct? Whatever the case was, she knew more tests had to be run. If the Spy's guess was accurate, then that would open up a whole new realm of possibilities for the substance. Even if doomsday weapons were a dime a dozen, it didn't hurt to have a few naturally occurring substances in her arsenal. Hell, she'd manufactured a strain of toxins derived from poison ivy. Making a profit off such a naturally fatal substance like this tree's sap would be simple.

"If you're correct, Monsieur, then we're standing next to one of the greatest weapons against every first-world country," Marian replied.

The Spy nodded. "Zhat is what I fear."

He expected Marian to show a little more restraint in light of the news. Instead, she laughed in the revelation's wake. "Do you know what this means? Not only do I have the secret to restoring people to their youth! This could be one of the most profitable weapons in the chemical warfare business! Hell, it's the cure for cancer and the atom bomb wrapped into one neat package! All I have to do is separate the two from each other, and—"

"Are you mad?" The Spy interrupted her spiel. He shook his head, then walked in front of her, blocking her from traveling towards her chopper. "You take zhis substance off the island, and then what? Testing? You'd take zhis back to Brisbane and potentially expose thousands of Australians to it! You don't have ze power to keep zhis from getting out of control!"

Marian barked back. "I do so! Now, see here. I got us all to this godforsaken island, right? That took quite a bit of expenses and resource management."

"You got us here? Please!" The Spy shook his head, incredulous at her suggestion. "It is only because you kidnapped my friend and myself zhat you were able to accomplish anyzhing! Need I remind you of your disastrous choice of employees before us? How about zhat crash in Abkhazia? Ze swarms of soldiers zhat followed our accident! You would have been, at best, locked up and thrown away in a gulag!"

"You self-righteous—" Marian stammered, her lips failing to find the proper obscenity for the Spy. She growled, then struck back. "Do I need to remind you about the payment you received? Your little woman? I guarantee that unless you shut your trap and assist me, you'll never get to enjoy either!"

The Spy threw his hands down. "Perhaps I should remind you of the dead corpses lying at each of zhese locations! Why don't you take the body of some woman or child and have zhem tested for Australium? I guarantee zhat you will find zheir shimmering bones to be full of ze element."

Marian narrowed her eyes. She spoke with a sharp pain. "You bastard. Don't you dare bring dead children into this!"

The Spy drew his head back. He'd struck a raw nerve. Marian had reacted the same way back at Lake Ritsa. Was that her weakness? Children? It was not a weak spot that the Spy could mock her for having. He just didn't expect to have someone so ruthless to balk when a child was being threatened. He could use that to his advantage. Finally, he could get some leverage on her.

"Listen to me. You take zhis stuff out of here? I am certain zhat it will harm children. Even if you run perfect tests, even if you correctly label your products with warnings, you will harm a child." The Spy lowered his head, his voice descended to a low tone. "Did you not try on your mama's cosmetics as a child? What if a woman could be immune to zhis substance, but her child was not?"

Marian hissed through her teeth. She did not immediately snap back at him. Her pupils were narrow, lips set into a sharp frown. It took her a few breaths before she could speak. "Can't you see what I'm doing here? Don't you get it? I've put a lot of time and money into this project. I've got to have something for my work. Why don't you have faith in me?"

The Spy replied, "Don't you trust me?"

As fate would have it, the Spy picked a very bad time to ask that question. There were two things that the Spy had forgotten. The first was that eucalyptus trees—the plants that surrounded him—were prone to wild combustion thanks to their secreted oils. The second was that Americans could be somewhat errant and uncontrollable in the face of death. Most other cultures had a sense of fearful reverence about death, merely accepting it as a part of life's cycle. Americans, on the other hand, frequently reacted to death with overemotional displays of anger and sorrow.

In sort, the Spy's attempts at reasoning and logic were destroyed by a vindictive arsonist and an exploding tree of life.

Both the Spy and Marian were thrown to the ground as the legendary source of vitality went up in a gargantuan column of fire. Splinters landed across the encampment, some embedding into the walls of the ruins. The Spy growled, feeling for sharp fragments in his back. No damage that he had taken was fatal or dire. He twisted around, watching men throw samples at the tree, trying to get it to stop burning. All it did was add fuel to the fire.

A curse caused him to realize his own predicament. "You traitorous bastard!"

At first, the Spy thought Marian was talking to someone else, like she had spotted Toaster. As he turned his attention back to her, he found himself staring into a muzzle. Marian had his custom Ambassador placed against his skull, her thumb pressed down on the safety and her finger on the trigger. So, he'd forgotten to get one of his guns back, too. There was no time to worry about that. He could not argue with her. He reached for his satchel, grabbing for the one item that was going to save his life.

As Marian pulled the trigger, the Spy grasped his hand around the hummingbird pocket watch.

/***/

The Spy's corpse fell to the ground.

There was a small panicked gasp from Sensei. The Sniper's jaw dropped. Had he reached it in time? Lord, there was no time to wait. They had to act. Energy coursed through him, his ill body rejuvenated by a fresh rush. He had to stop Marian and her men from leaving the island. That was what the Spy had tried to do. If he survived or if he fell, the Sniper had to live up to his word.

Well, he knew the quickest way to do that.

The Sniper jammed his laser sight back into his gun. One shot. That was all he needed. It didn't take three seconds to line up his shot. Marian's hat gave him a perfect target. He lowered his gun just a touch, letting anger and frustration take over any last regrets. Gritting his teeth, the Sniper held his breath.

He was then yanked off his feet by a reprimanding Southerner. "Fer God's sake, man!"

Toaster and Buckaroo had returned to Sensei and the Sniper's position. Both were coated in a thick layer of char. While the Sniper was glad that they had survived, he was livid for having them cost him his shot. "Bloody pikers! I've gotta—"

To his surprise, Buckaroo slapped him. "Damn ya fer pullin' a gun on a woman!"

"She just shot my mate!" the Sniper snapped back.

"Look, ladies? We can have the moral debate later, alright? We kinda need to run right now," Toaster growled.

He was right. Marian's men were heading for their position. Several of them had guns drawn. The Sniper spat, angry that he had to fall back without the Spy. There was nothing he could do for him now. Toaster dragged him away from the site, his associates following in turn. There was no time to stop and aim. They had to get to the chopper first. Each man scurried and leapt through the forest, winding in a serpentine fashion through burning plants and fallen lumber. Storm winds were quick to pick up Toaster's work, sending waves of flame rolling over them. Percussive blasts hounded them, shots just seconds behind each of their steps. It wouldn't be long until one of them was shot dead.

Fear spurred the Sniper onward. It pounded in his chest. He scurried and fled over dead trees, his lungs choking on ash and smoke. Thunder cracked above his head, throwing lightning and rain down in sloughs. Time became meaningless, space mangled and knotted. All he could think of was his friend's fallen body. He should have fired. He shouldn't have been so frightened by that exploding tree. Even now, knowing all of this, he still let panic drive him like a wild horse.

He thought that nothing could possibly be worse at that very moment. Then he ran out of land.

They had broken through the forest, landing on an eastern beach. Unfortunately, the Sniper and Toaster's crew had emerged in precisely the wrong spot. A vehicle greeted them, but it was not a helicopter. A hulking skeleton was beached on the coast, its iron core gnarled and rusting. It was more massive than any whale's carcass. The Sniper's heart landed in his stomach, fear finally overflowing into disbelief. He did not hesitate to leap into its bowels, knowing that his salvation would only come from standing ground here. Toaster's men followed him into the wreckage, each man preparing to engage in their final standoff.

There, on top of the S.S. Maheno's corpse, the Sniper stared into the snarling tempest of defeat and opened fire into its maw.

I found
-spy discussing what he was going to do at length, and then repeating exactly that
-Marian thinking about how she was going to make a profit, and then repeating her points without lying

a bit redundant. The non-speech reminder of Scout's ma seemed unneeded too.

I also think that this update lacked suspense. Feels like mostly everything that went wrong had been brought up.

...Maybe the dead ringer could've been omitted for a bigger surprise later? At the moment I'm only mildly wondering if spy's around.

Anyway, this "Spy's attempts at reasoning and logic were destroyed by a vindictive arsonist and an exploding tree of life" definitely made me smile.

81 makes a very valid point, but I still enjoyed this chapter! I'm looking forward to the next chapter already!

Still a bit sad about Boomer's death. Gonna miss his jabs at Sniper.
Also can't stop re-reading the last few paragraphs. Seriously awesome stuff!

Sorry about the redundancy. It's the computer scientist in me. I have to know that you know what I'm talking about. You know?

Here. Let me give you a PG-13 wet t-shirt bit. Then you can skim the rest and get back to PYROMANIA. WHOO!

/***/

Thick rain and heavy ocean mist soaked the Sniper's clothes. His drenched uniform clung to his chest, water sinking through cotton and dripping down his skin in lukewarm beads. His eyes were irritated from smoke rising from the burning forest not too far from where he and the remnants of Toaster's gang had entrenched themselves in the bowels of the S.S. Maheno. Thunder cracked, and he shivered. One of those bolts was going to be a bullet. It was only a matter of time. The best he could do for the moment was hide in the rusting framework of the dead ship, his finger steadied on his rifle's trigger, should any infernal beast come from out of the jungle.

Toaster and his crew were keeping quiet. Buckaroo had been given the Sniper's sub-machine gun. Toaster had his kukri. Sensei was huddled in the middle of the boat's carcass. It was more logical to protect him than to let him fight. Injuries were inevitable, at this point. Perhaps there was no purpose in keeping alive. Toaster was looking for his death. That much was certain. He wanted to go out fighting, coated in the gore of dozens of men. Some poor revenge. Certainly, the rest of his men would take a bullet over days of exposure to the elements. The Sniper didn't know what his death would bring. Perhaps he could find himself in the presence of his teammates, embarrassed and pleading for forgiveness for the pains he put them through. Maybe he'd even be back with the Spy.

The Sniper gritted his teeth. He hoped that what Toaster's group saw was right, that the Spy had died instantly from that gunshot. The Spy was a tricky bastard, though. He had his knives and disguises. More than that, he had his clever little watches. If he'd been able to reach his pocket watch in time, if he had survived, then what horrible fate had the Sniper left him to suffer? Burning alive? Being recaptured by Marian? Both were unacceptable. When he should have fought with his teammate, the Sniper fled. No wonder other men considered him a coward. It was the truth.

"See anythin'?" Buckaroo quietly asked.

The Sniper shifted in his position, keeping silent. He moved his rifle. Dark shadows in the forest were getting bigger. Perhaps he was letting his tired eyes play tricks on him. Lightning flashed above his head, illuminating the shades on the forest's edge. Those men were no illusion. He paused, searching for the right target. One of them had a long-range rifle slung over his back. The choice was easy for him to make.

Pursing his lips, the Sniper took aim. He exhaled, then slowly counted to three. As he chanted, he pulled the man's head into his sights. He waited one second more, just long enough to account for the wind's pull. A sharp crack pierced the night. It was not thunder. His target fell backwards, a red mist dissolving into pink rain. The men around the dead man panicked and drew their guns. The Sniper moved quickly. It was not long before they'd open fire on his location.

"How many more?" Toaster hissed.

"Five in the open," the Sniper replied. He paused once more, taking aim at a new man's head. Just a fellow with a shotgun. Poor bastard. The Sniper split his head in two, then ran again. If he had more patience and time, perhaps he would have tried hiding his shots in the thunder. As it was, he had to be a little less graceful and more lethal.

There was a rattle as Buckaroo opened fire. Someone had slipped a little too close to his position. A pained scream echoed in the storm as the uncertified holy man broke his lord's commandments. The remaining three fellows turned to the portly man's position. The Sniper took advantage of their distraction, popping off another one's head. Buckaroo ended one more life as the men's attention darted around. Toaster snuck to his friend's side, taking the last one for himself. He had too much pleasure in severing the guard's head from his body.

Toaster yelled at the burning jungle. "Is that all, you sons 'a bitches?"

It was not.

A peculiar haze rolled out of the forest. It was not smoke. The smell of the gas was strange, like paint thinner and incense. Men stepped from out of the foliage, gas masks slipped over their head. Toaster retched as the cloud reached him. Some sort of toxin, no doubt. The hapless crew fell back, leaving the Sniper to his precarious position in the ship. He growled, but didn't retreat. He had to stop those men from gassing them all.

His rifle moved easy in his hands, even as the fumes started hitting him. One man fell in a burst of blood, then another. He must have looked no more threatening than a small shimmer in the rolling storm, but the remaining guards knew of his threat. He kept firing. What else could he do? If he was driven into the ocean, then that truly would be the end. He wouldn't let some dime-a-dozen mook take him down, not after the pains he'd endured.

The Sniper lost count of his shots, of the men piled dead in front of him. He pulled the trigger, and they fell. He clicked it once more, and nothing happened. He could barely move it. The trigger was gummed up, jammed by the heat and the miserable conditions. The Sniper fell back, his stomach churning anew under the threat of the gas. He stumbled out of the wreckage, landing on his right side. The dead ship wheezed with the ominous air in its belly. He flopped onto his back, sandy fingers vainly cleaning his jammed gun.

He let go of his rifle. It was futile. God knows where those bastards went, but they weren't coming to rescue him. His stomach clenched painfully, unable to expel any bile. His lungs burned from the fumes. Engines roared in his ears. He opened his eyes, letting his vision drift upwards. They widened at an unimaginable sight. There was a rush of energy that shot through his spine. His spirit lifted.

"Goddamn buncha bastards!" the Sniper cheered as a helicopter above his head opened fire.

There was a bright, colorful ball of energy in the sky. Behind that were two barrels piping lead into the remaining force around the Maheno. A third barrel was spinning, splattering rounds across the ship. Gloved hands were throwing down a yellow rope ladder, letting it drop right next to the Sniper's head. Feet flew to it. Toaster's crew was damned determined to save their lives, no matter who was rescuing them. Another man slid down it, landing next to the Sniper's side. He raised the muzzle of his weapon, then let out a blast of clean air. It rushed over the Sniper's body, forcing the fumes back long enough to let him breathe again. He scrambled to get upright, throwing his rifle over his back. The Pyro pulled him up by his belt, throwing him onto the rope ladder. He was halfway up it, his rescuer a quarter of the way up when the Sniper's stomach lurched again. This time, it wasn't due to the gas. It was caused by the helicopter lifting them off the ground.

The Sniper scrambled into the cabin of the helicopter. Rubber-gloved arms were there to pull him in. He collapsed into his teammate's grasp, his lungs filling with clean air. There were pats on his back, hands gently rubbing his shoulders and spine. He shivered once, his exhausted body trembling in joy. His heart was thumping in his ears. He could barely hear his teammates talking to him, nor the Pyro's slamming of the door shut behind him.

A question broke through his tattered brain. "Herr Sniper! Are you alright?"

"I-I'm foine." The Sniper glanced up. Then he wished he hadn't. He was staring into the eyes of four anxious men, each one more surprised than the last. He'd forgotten about his transformation. Of all the things he had worried about in the last few minutes, his appearance had been the last of them. They held their breath, eyes widened. He shrunk down, wishing he could hide himself in the Medic's lab coat.

The Heavy knelt down next to the Medic. He frowned, shocked and a little uneasy. "Little man. Where is Spy?"

The Sniper shook his head. He couldn't tell them. If the Spy was dead, then he'd failed his teammates by not protecting him. If he was alive, then he'd abandoned him to burn in a forest, complacent with the whims of a bunch of nutjobs. He lowered his head, teeth gritting in a frown, self-loathing burning in the pit of his stomach. God, he couldn't do anything. He'd let himself get turned into something no more powerful or logical than a rag doll.

Toaster growled, snapping the team's attention away from their teammate. "Listen, guys. A dead Frenchie's the least of your problems, okay? You see your friend, there? He got off lucky. We left a ton of dead bastards in the forest, and it's all thanks to that sap we found."

"Sap?" The Engineer tilted his head. "A plant did this ta him?"

"Gets worse than that, I'm afraid," Buckaroo said. "Killed a bunch 'a Australians. That stuff reacts ta Australium, and the bastards got…" He sniffled once, trying not to let Boomer's death sink into his mind.

The Sniper spoke for Buckaroo. "If Marian takes it ta Brisbane, she could risk contaminating the whole population. Could wipe out most 'a the country." He gave a long look at the Engineer. "Not ta mention what it'd do ta others that handle Australium."

"If what ya say is true, Stretch, then damn near every first-world country could be hurt by this stuff," the Engineer murmured as he sat down. He hesitated to place a hand on the Sniper, but finally let his left hand rest on his teammate's neck. His skin was so strange to the touch, soft and smooth. It made jitters run across the Texan's nerves. He didn't even feel like his teammate anymore. Blue eyes stared into his goggles, tired but free of wrinkles. There was a strange palpitation in his chest, something joyful and painful.

The Pyro got down to business. "Vrr fud vr grr, dnn?"

Toaster cocked his head. "Wait, what?"

"Dr strrp Mrrerrerrn!" The Pyro pounded his fist into his palm.

"Ah. Pyro wants to stop Marian now. So, where do we go?" the Heavy translated.

Sensei agreed. "To the north, then. If we stop her helicopter from taking off, then I would guess that we can prevent her from causing a potential biological disaster."

"Did you guys say somethin' about a helicopter?" a voice boomed from the cockpit. Their long-haired pilot tilted his head to the side. "I ain't chasin' no goddamn aircraft in this kinda weather! We need ta conserve our fuel!"

"Come on! Did you not just hear about how your entire goddamn country is gonna be obliterated?" Toaster fumed.

The pilot yelled back, "Well, I didn't say we couldn't stop her over there! I just ain't wastin' the fuel! Come on! Let's beat her back!"

Democracy meant nothing to a group in a helicopter with only one pilot. The chopper swung to the west, then plowed forward. Rain pelted the front of the copter. Lightning threatened to strike it at any minute. Nobody wasted any time. Each man scooped reserves from the dispenser in the center of the chopper, quick to reload. Even if they didn't have an immediate battle, they still had to be prepared.

The Sniper kept himself tucked in with his teammates. The Medic was eyeing him with morbid curiosity, wondering about how his body had been restored. The Heavy was pleased to have him back, giving him a large squeeze around the shoulder before sitting down. The Pyro gave him two pats on the leg. He was quick to settle back into his normal thoughts of joy and mayhem. The Engineer threw an arm around his back, clinging to his teammate. His grasp said so much—elation, fear, affection. The Sniper sank into his hold, trying to ignore the burning pain in his tear ducts. He was back with them. He was safe as he could possibly be.

But he'd abandoned the Spy.

/***/

Contrary to popular belief, the Spy was still alive and well.

His pocket watch had bought him eight seconds of time. After Marian had shot him, she had immediately filed with her men and abandoned his supposed corpse. No matter to him. The Spy thought about rushing her men, slaughtering each one with the visage of his previous victim. It would not work. Even if he managed to kill seven or eight of them, one would catch wise to his tactics and shoot him again. He couldn't count on his luck to save him. He certainly couldn't hope that by killing the witch, her guards would surrender.

His best chance was to beat them to the helicopter and ground it. How he could do that? Well, he had several options. He could kill all of the guards waiting for Marian, then sap the helicopter and destroy it. He could just murder the pilot. If he just wanted to foil her, he could cut the sample containers open and let them leak into the sand. She certainly couldn't get another bunch of samples, not with the forest burning the only living tree known to produce this sap.

As the Spy bolted towards the helicopter, he pondered the fate of his teammate. Those damned fools of Marian's had managed to muck up yet another event. He did not worry so much over their lives, but he was concerned about the Sniper. Not to say that the man didn't have his strengths, nor that he wouldn't thrive in the wild. Even death would be merciful, all things considered. He didn't want his teammate languishing out in the forest, choking or bleeding to death. Perhaps he should have gone with him and killed the guards pursuing their tails. Then again, knowing the Sniper's prowess, he doubted they would be a threat for long.

The Sniper would understand. A man didn't leave the world in the snares of danger, even if that meant putting his teammates' lives at risk. Certainly not his lover, either.

He made it to Marian's helicopter minutes before she would arrive. The Spy's options were narrowed instantly. Several guards were hauling gallons of goop into the rear of the helicopter. Some were standing next to the pilot's door, guarding him as well. There were no stragglers, everyone keeping two by two. The Spy grumbled. So, this wouldn't be so easy. He could still cause some damage before they knew what had happened.

The Spy flipped his golden watch on. He stepped onto the sea's banks, his footsteps sinking into the sand. That wasn't good. Any man with half a brain could see where he was going. He kept towards the burning foliage, looking for rock to step across. There was nothing. He cursed silently once more. He was running out of time.

Going against every screaming neuron in his brain, the Spy leapt out of his cover. He dove beneath the helicopter, quick to squirm under its belly. He hissed, wondering what to do next. Wriggling towards the cockpit, he eyed the ankles of the men guarding the pilot. Perhaps he could stab them with his Arabian dagger and snatch their forms. If he knew a damn thing about the assembly of a helicopter, he could sap its electronics from here. He rubbed the stubble on his face, his cool demeanor cracking. There was nothing he could do without a distraction or a disguise. He was in over his head.

A woman's voice pierced through the storm. "Get ready! We're taking off!"

Marian had finally arrived. The Spy gritted his teeth, damning his luck and incompetence. Something feral and carnal gnawed at his brain, images of his paramour in danger flooding his better judgment. No. He couldn't let harm come to her. Not after all the indignities he'd suffered. Not after what he'd put the Sniper through just to save her.

He'd just have to take a drastic, dangerous option.

The Spy idled patiently beneath the chopper. He waited as the guards and Marian stepped into its guts. As soon as her boots hopped onto the helicopter's floor, he stepped up and casually strolled into the helicopter. The door flung shut, quick to seal its passengers and cargo inside the chopper. The blades above their heads roared to life, the copter shaking as it started its ascent.

He had not thought this plan through. It was quick to backfire on him.

Normally, his invisibility cloak would perfectly blend with his surroundings. Of course, the technology was not flawless. He could not hide his form in the rain as the droplets would bounce off his skin and the reflective cloak around him. Fire would waver through his body. Anything that could stick to him would show up. In this unfortunate circumstance, sand had clung to his back from when he'd hidden beneath the helicopter. Now, standing upright in the cabin, that sand appeared to be floating around invisible legs and a back.

Needless to say, he had several guns pulled on him immediately.

"You have got to be kidding me," Marian growled. "What are you, Casper the Goddamn Ghost?"

The Spy sighed. Well, there was no point in being subtle anymore. He grabbed his knife, then leapt upon the most vulnerable target. He stabbed into one of the plastic containers. Ooze gushed out of one, spilling over his body. He continued slashing away, knowing that extracting the stuff here was the best way to stop most of it from reaching Brisbane. His efforts were not permitted to go on for long. Two guards tackled him, two more quick to raise a pistol to his head.

"Monsieur, cut the crap," Marian hissed.

The Spy grumbled. The charge on his watch finally ran low, his form mostly solid. There was no point in being aggressive now. She had him. He lowered his cloak, surrendering for the moment. He was trying to calculate another plan as the guards flung him onto a nearby seat. They were quick to strip him of his weapons and tools, locking his arms behind his back with plastic cuffs. Damn. He'd forgotten about those.

Marian sighed, then crossed her legs. "I really should shoot you again."

"Go ahead. You'll get ze same results," the Spy spat.

"I have my doubts." Marian reclined, a dark smile creeping across her face. "My treacherous friend, I am impressed. I am certain you could have killed me, and yet, you came out here to stop this shipment of my samples instead. Why?"

The Spy lowered his voice. "You are asking foolish questions. You already know why."

Marian grinned. "Well, of course, Monsieur. We have a bit of a ride to get to Brisbane, though, don't we? We might as well make small talk." She tipped her head, then clicked her tongue. "I'll tell you what. Since you've been a good boy for most of the trip, I'll hold up my end of the bargain. You'll get to see your pretty little lady soon enough."

"And zhen?" the Spy asked, his eyes narrowing.

Marian sustained her malevolent grin. "Well, I'll offer her a free sample, of course. It's what all good salesmen do."

Oh Snap.

...What further designs does she have on the spy anyway? Why not just kill him?

implications unpleasant.

Awesome. Love the action and the suspense, can't wait for more.

So the next chapter is when scoutma will do something useful and save the day or something?

Because so far she's been nothing but a confident problem.

This is an amazing fic.

Wait, what happened to Scout and the rock and baseball bat bit?

>>87
I have to admit that when I first read this comment, it angered me. It was a selfish reaction. Perhaps what was painful about it was how it was actually correct. I hadn't meant to use the Scout's mother as a damsel in distress. I meant to use her as a tool to keep the Spy under control. Still, this statement was true.

After some self-reflection and doubt, I came up with this chapter. It's not my greatest, but it should move the B plot along. Hopefully, you will find that the Scout's mother is being better utilized in the plot now. If not, hit me with the truth again. It was a tough pill for me to swallow, but I think it cured an ill.

I'm sorry. I feel like I've failed you as a storyteller.

/***/

While nature sought to conspire against everyone else, it provided the Scout with an early opportunity. The torrential downpour had the citizens of Brisbane tucked into their apartments and homes. Workers were quick to scurry from their offices to their cars after work. When they had cleared, the street was completely empty. It was perfect for him to work. The street lamps gave him enough light to find his targets and just enough shadow to hide. Normally, he didn't give two craps about the lighting, but it helped to have a little cover. After all, he didn't want to screw this up.

Not when his mother's life could be on the line.

The Scout had climbed his way onto the fire escape of a near-by complex. He rummaged through the sports bag slung across his back. A white ball with sharp stitching found its way into his bandaged hands. He narrowed his eyes, adjusting his cap to shield them from the rain. Skulking around Marian Grey's office, he found his first target. It was a rectangular camera. It had a little red light that glowed in the dark storm, cheerfully scanning the perimeter for intruders. The poor little thing never saw the baseball that smashed it off its mount. The Scout caught his ball as it bounced back, surprised with how hard it landed in his palm. His swing was getting stronger.

Sneaking around the complex, the Scout continued his mission. Three more cameras fell to the ground before he was through. He smirked, twirling his bat as he made his way around to the front of the office building. Now that his subtle work was over, he got to perform the part he enjoyed the most—that of the flashy distraction. He sauntered over to the elegant black vehicle parked just in front of the four glass doors that led inside. He whistled twice, then drew his bat.

He broke off the passenger-side mirror and most of the windshield before anyone came out to stop him.

Mister Shotgun was the first one out of the door. "Ya little bastard! What are ya—" was all he got out before the Scout whacked him in the solar plexus. He dropped to the ground almost instantly. As he struggled to get his breath again, the Scout leapt on his back. He pulled the guard backwards, hoping to squeeze just long enough on his throat to make the guy pass out. Just as Mister Shotgun's struggles were stilling, Flint rushed out the door and smashed the kid in the back of the head.

"Bloody punk!" The second guard picked him off the ground, thrashing him against the damaged car a few times. "Think it's funny ta wreck somethin' that isn't yers, huh?"

"Screw you and yer cheap-ass piece 'a crap!" the Scout spat.

Flint's eyes narrowed, his sharp jaw obscuring most of the Scout's vision. "Think I'll have ta teach ya a lesson in economics, ya greasy streak 'a nothin'!"

The guard slammed the Scout into the fancy vehicle, sending his head reeling in a burst of stars. He pulled the Scout back. Before he could smash the kid one more time, an American fist clobbered the guard in his face. The Soldier was quick to deck Flint, knocking him out with two more blows. The Demoman finished off Mister Shotgun with a sharp punch to the back of his head. He helped the Scout onto his feet, letting the boy wheeze on his shoulder for a few moments.

Miss Pauling clicked next to her men, her shoes resonant even in the storm. "So much for subtlety."

"Cameras are out, ain't dey?" the Scout coughed. He stood upright, giving the Demoman a few pats on the back. "Thanks, pally."

The Demoman grinned, then reached into the pocket of Mister Shotgun. "You're welcome, boyo. Lesse here. Ah! A bunch 'a keys. This ought ta do."

The Soldier wasn't nearly as precise with his theft. He stripped the suit jacket off Flint, then threw it around himself. "Nice. Perfect fit."

"You're kidding me," Miss Pauling muttered.

"Hey! It's not every day I find something this fancy!" The Soldier straightened his lapel, then scrounged for more useful items. He found an identification card and a key ring. "A ha! I think we've hit pay dirt. Nicely done, privates!"

The four ascended a few stairs and stormed into the front lobby. They used the ID card and the keys to crack the door open. It was quiet, lightning splashing across the impeccably clean tile floors. Lights were coming from hallways and stairwells. The stairs descending into lower levels were more lit. The Soldier threw two fingers to his eyes, signaling for the group to go downstairs. The Demoman rolled his eyes, then bopped the Soldier in the helmet. The American could pretend he was a strategic mastermind all he wanted. Often times, common sense was more than enough, and he wasn't smart enough to figure out others had a comparable intelligence to his own.

Miss Pauling strolled behind the front desk. She shuffled through a few papers before finding an office floor plan. "Okay. Gentlemen, you go on ahead and secure the Scout's mother. In the meantime, I'll take care of any remaining security cameras."

The Scout cocked his head, a little irritated. "What? Ya sayin' I did a crappy job out dere?"

"We don't need anyone knowing what vehicles we are using. If I wipe out all recorded tapes and sabotage any security computers, we should be able to pull this off with no dangling threads," Miss Pauling explained.

The Demoman nodded. "Probably shoulda worn gloves then."

"None of us have fingerprints on file with any global authorities. Helen keeps it that way." Miss Pauling rearranged the papers on the front desk, then grabbed her revolver. "I'll meet you in the van."

The three men rushed down the descending stairwell. As they marched towards the basement floor, the trappings of the lobby gave way to blander, simpler decorations. Wallpapered and trim walls became painted plaster and brick. Floors went from immaculately polished stone to stained wood. It smelt heavily of cleaning supplies, chlorine and a sweet orange scent masking the smell of more insidious chemicals.

The basement was narrow, barely wide enough for two men to stroll alongside each other. Simple metal doors had glass peepholes and a sliver of a window. Each was decorated with black numbers, each number followed by the letter B. Most of the doors were closed and locked. The Demoman pressed his face to one, his one good eye wheeling about as he tried to glance inside a laboratory. It was all glass vials and black tables.

"I have ta wonder what she's all cookin' up here," the Demoman pondered.

"It's not her work. She's just dropping crap on eggheads," the Soldier grumbled. "That's an executive for you. Never does any of the actual work and thinks they need to be paid ten times more than anyone else."

The Scout shot both men a dirty look. "Would ya cram it? I think I hear somethin'."

Quietly, the young Bostonian peeked his head around a corner to his left. The Soldier and the Demoman were quick to join him. A bright light burned its way out of a door in a thin yellow streak. Acrid smoke curled above their heads in sinister curls. Tobacco, no doubt. Certainly not very ethical, if that was a group of scientists. Lighting up around a Bunsen burner was never a good idea. They crept forward, eyes darting into the space between the door frame and the ajar door. There were thick, meaty men cackling inside, hands thrown up in the air with their laughter, fingers full of cards. More were lying face-first on a rickety card table, drinks emptied, ice running beads down glass. Passed out, no doubt. Amongst them was a petite black-haired woman, her face flushed red.

"So, so den he comes home, and I ask him, 'How's Linda?' And he gives me dis death glare! Like I didn't tell him!" The lady examined her cards, smiling as the man around him roared. "A boy should listen to his mama, but does he? I know a bitch when I see one, and man, dat girl was an operator. Anyway, dat's why I don't wear my rocks 'round town no more."

A burly, large necked fellow snorted once, his Adam's apple bobbing with his speech. "Whatever happened to that girl, anyway?"

The little woman shrugged, sipping from her drink. "Ya know. Standard story. Went out drinking with a director, thinkin' she'd scored a little case, den came home da next time married ta a swindler and with a belly full 'a babies."

A greasy haired fellow elbowed her. "Sounds like somethin' ya'd know about."

"I would not!" She whacked the guard with her card hand. "I married for love every time. Just got bad luck."

The Scout's temples throbbed in anger. What was his mother doing? She seemed out of it, giggling and flirting with her captors. He reached for the door, pushing it open just a little more. He moved in silently, much to the Soldier and Demoman's dismay. The mother and son locked eyes, but no emotion passed between them. She looked like she was out of her wits and that he was merely a cheerful illusion. He was so mad that he could have steam-fried his own brain with his rage.

His mother drew her guards' attentions as her son and his company drew closer. "Well? What about yous guys? Got anythin' worth playin'?"

The first one pondered his hand. "Perhaps. That ain't your concern, is it?"

"Hell, you might as well toss your hand. I've got this," the cocky elbower bragged. A third fellow muttered something, but dropped his head on the table. He was too drunk to be of any use, much like the two other men already passed out. His collapse drew another proud boast from the bragging man. "Alright, suckers. Flip 'em and cry."

The Scout's mother smirked, making eye contact with her son once more. "Okay."

She grabbed onto the flimsy card cable and smashed it forward, sending men, chips, and cards flying. Drinks clattered to the ground, ice and glass shattering. One of the guards drew his gun, a sneer at his lips. "Ya cheatin' broad! I'd outta—" He coughed with surprise as a feral American man leapt onto his back. The Soldier smashed the revolver out of the guard's hands, then bashed him into the ground. The Demoman made similar work out of the greasy-haired guard, smashing a nearby beer bottle across his forehead. The Scout's mother watched with dull disinterest. She was used to seeing a little wet work. The men's violence did not faze her.

The Scout grabbed his mom by the arms and escorted her away from the table. "Ma! What da hell are ya doin' here?"

"Drinkin' 'em under da table," she replied. Despite her slurred accent, she was surprisingly sober. "Morons thought dat I was still heavily drugged. Woulda been outta here in an hour."

"Dat wasn't what I meant! I mean, why are ya here?" the Scout asked.

His mother growled. "Same reason yer here, I'd imagine. Came ta get mon caniche."

The Scout's face burst into a bright red color. "Ma! Don't call him dat in front 'a me! I gotta work with da guy!"

"Sorry, Scootie Pie," she shrugged.

"Don't call me dat, eidda!" the Scout yelped. He turned to his teammates, trying not to melt away in a puddle of embarrassment. "Ya assholes ready ta go?"

"Aye, aye!" the Demoman replied enthusiastically. He charged out of the door, his head darting wildly. He waved his teammates towards the door. "All clear! Let's go!"

"Is he really da best guy ta be tellin' us if da coast is clear?" the Scout's mother whispered.

The Scout shrugged. "Eh. He's at least half right, right?"

The Demoman rushed out of the room in a blaze. The Soldier was quick to follow him, his helmet almost bouncing off his head as he ran. The Scout gave his mother a glance, who in return remained calm and collected. She shooed her boy on ahead. He raced up the stairwell, beating his teammates into the lobby. She was not far behind them, careful to avoid stepping on glass with her bare feet as she carried her remaining shoe and travel bag out of her cell.

Miss Pauling was waiting for them in the lobby. She was cleaning a bloody paperweight on the hem of her shirt. "Ah. There you are. All went well, then?"

"Had ta knock a few coconuts, but nothin' too hard," the Demoman replied.

"Miss Paulin'? My boys got ya mixed up in this mess, too?" the Scout's mother asked.

Miss Pauling shrugged. "When our company's affairs are interrupted, my employers take any threat seriously."

"Makes sense to me." The Scout's mother dropped her shoe into bag, then began fussing with Miss Pauling's shirt. "Oh, geez. Yer gonna want ta wash this on cold. Ya don't want the blood ta set."

"T-thank you," Miss Pauling replied. She was a little flustered by the Scout's mother's doting.

"Ya know, purple's a good color on ya. Really is. Very flatterin' with the cat's eyes glasses," the Scout's mother continued. "Why da pants, though? Don't professionals yer age wear skirts anymore? Oh, and heels! Ya know how men are dese days. First dhey want short women, dhen dhey want tall ladies. Just can never make up dheir mind, ya know?"

The Soldier rubbed his face, his brain blanking with the Scout's mother's ramblings. "Ladies, let's move this to the car. We need to get to our secure location before we can engage in further planning of our next attack and Miss Pauling's wardrobe."

The Scout's mom bopped Miss Pauling in the shoulder. "Ain't dhey just sweethearts?"

"I don't mean to be rude, but are you drunk?" Miss Pauling asked.

The Scout's mother shrugged. "I'm workin' on flushing a tranquilizer and a few ounces a booze outta my system. It takes a little time. My liver's not quite what it used ta be."

The five people quickly abandoned the complex. The Demoman flung the door shut behind them, making sure it was locked before he left. If the assholes in the basement woke up, he wanted to put just a little more time and distance between them. They bolted into the van. The Soldier took the wheel, the Demoman in the shotgun position. Miss Pauling, the Scout's Mother, and the Scout crammed into the backseat. There was a heavy cough as the van rattled to life. It leapt out of its hiding spot, quick to barrel to the hotel room they had reserved.

Miss Pauling rubbed her nose, just below her glasses. "Perhaps I should have had you men kill the guards as well. I doubt they'll report us to the police, considering their kidnappings, but—"

"I think it's sweet you people didn't kill dhem," the Scout's mother replied. "Not like they'd be messin' with us, if it weren't fer dheir crazy boss. Not the best guys, but dhey were decent enough."

"Geez, Ma. Got a case 'a Stolkholm syndrome?" the Scout poked fun at his mom. She swatted him on the shoulder in response.

"Oy! Ya did spend quite a bit 'a time with those bastards, didn't ya?" The Demoman turned around to face the Scout's mother. "What in the hell are they doin', yankin' the Sniper and Spy around the globe? Political assassinations? Stealing treasures? International criminal activites? What?"

The Scout's mother sat upright. "Dat stuff would be logical in comparison ta what dis broad is doin'. She's lookin' fer da Fountain 'a Youth."

The other four occupants at the vehicle stared at her. Even the driving Soldier. He snapped back to his work quickly, but he was still incredulous at the revelation. Miss Pauling's face was set in a worried frown. The Scout was shaking his head. There was no way someone could be simultaneously stupid enough to believe in such a fictitious place and clever enough to catch both the Sniper and the Spy. The only rider that accepted the Scout's mother's testimony at face value was the Demoman, and that was only because he'd witnessed enough magical crap in his lifetime to believe anything.

"Okay. Okay. Let me get dis straight. A make-up lady wants ta find da Fountain 'a Youth, so she drags our two guys across the world and kidnaps you in an effort ta find dis." The Scout flailed his hands in the air. "What da hell? Wouldn't findin' it put her out of business?"

The Scout's mother shrugged. "Da guards said she'd either water da stuff down and hock it, or she'd find a way to weaponize it. Dat's all I've got. Well, dat, and dat da crazy gal thinks it's in Australia. Dis was only after vistin' a few abandoned places, mind ya."

"Musta been a hell of a search," the Demoman nodded. "I would have liked ta see old places like that. Instead, we got our asses stuck in every hotel and plane between here and the United States! The bastards have better found some right and proper treasure, after all we went through!"

The Soldier tried to reassure the group. "Truckie got their coordinates figured out. He and the others will have both men rescued in no time. After that? Miss Grey can do as she pleases."

"Aren't ya worried about what dat crazy gal will do if she does find it?" the Scout asked.

"Son, I am a war machine. I could figure out any missile launch code for any ICBM in the United States. I have an assortment of weapons, plans, and a ton of patience." The Soldier grinned darkly, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "I doubt she'll ever been a threat to me or to my sweet Lady Liberty."

Miss Pauling broke up the argument. "We don't have time for speculations. We've got to—"

Her cool, calm interjection was interrupted by a horrid thump on top of the van. The Soldier slammed on the breaks. A transparent object about the size and shape of a water cooler tank rolled down the front of the van. Liquid heavier than rain gushed over the sides of the dented roof. The Scout's mother cursed a string of incomprehensible words that were muffled together by her accent. The blow had startled them all.

"Where in da hell did dat come from?" the Scout asked.

Well, fuck
I get all excited about a new chapter and i finish it within minutes
I liked it regardless but auuhgh

Eh, we're all only human. It's normal to feel worked-up over criticism, hell, even actors feel anxious when they read reviews of their latest picture. The important thing is to take a deep breath and step back for a while, when you find something's bothering you. ...at least, that's what I try to do.

Scout-mama hadn't done much aside from being used as leverage, but she didn't seem like a 'problem' to me. Hell, the other two people who were captured are experienced professional killers, and they failed in their efforts to escape- Sniper had to be rescued by his teammates, and Spy is still in enemy hands.

That isn't to say you should totally ignore posts you disagree with. Everyone's going to have their own opinions, and you can't please every person who comes by and reads your story, but you can still learn a little from what people say- unless it's something pointless and insulting, I guess (ie. "omg you suck I hate your story"). I can't anticipate what the poster was hoping for, but I liked this latest chapter. That's my two cents, for what it's worth.

Goofy and fun. Always loved your drama breaks.
May be wrong, but the previous chapter seemed to have a slight show vs tell problem.
Still wondering how she's gonna react to a de-aged spy.
Or how much of a fit the Administrator's gonna throw. <3

Well now I feel bad for saying it so rudely. I should have just said it like the normal mediocre crit like I did when I mentioned the sniper being neglected earlier on, so don't beat yourself over it.
I'm glad to be of help at least. I enjoy this story, a lot, And even if there /was/ at least one thing I didn't like, the greatness of the rest of the story would overpower it.
I can't really think of any other way I can tell you that you could never fail as a story teller, and to keep writing forever.

>>93 You know what? That's okay. Someone's gotta kick my butt every once in a while. Good critiques produce a better product. (Kinda wish you weren't anonymous, though. It'd be nice to know who my resident ass-kicker was.)

Speaking of crude products, have an unbeta'd chapter. I could have waited, I suppose, but I'm very impatient...

/***/

Brisbane was a torrential mess.

Thick rain pelted the rental van in which half of the people from Teufort sat. Wet, sloppy globs splashed and rolled every which way, catching in the second liquid that had coated the van. The strange fluid stuck to the van, only weakening and falling away in small flecks. Wind buffeted both liquids around. The storm rocked the van as it crept away from streets crammed full of businesses. Lightning bore its teeth, thunder gnashing in its wake. The building tempest rattled signs, sending scraps of paper and garbage scurrying in its wake. One newspaper splattered against the van's windshield, smearing black ink across its face as the wipers kicked into gear.

The Soldier scowled. "Why does everything in this goddamn country want to fight us?"

"I don't think—well, that's not important," Miss Pauling shook her head. "Hopefully, the rain will wash this strange gunk off, at any rate."

The Scout screwed up his face. "Looks like blue maple syrup ta me. Or molasses, maybe."

"Oh, sure. Leave it to the Bostonian to think it's molasses," the Soldier taunted. His words were rebuked by a sharp smack to the back of his head. Reverberations from his helmet rang in his ears like a large bell. He turned to find the Scout's mother scowling at him. "Sorry, m'am."

"I hate ta point this out, but we need ta start makin' our next plan. Won't be but two shakes of a lamb's tail before those fellas we knocked out will be wakin' up and callin' in reinforcements." The Demoman brought everyone back to order. He was not focused for long. "Anybody got a—what in the blazes?"

New roars echoed in the sky, but they did not come from the storm. The source of these sounds was obscured in gray, rolling clouds. One caught a flash of lightning off its side. Black, rotating wings carried a burdened helicopter out of danger, pressing onwards through sharp winds and cloud bursts. Across the sky, another vehicle shimmered in the night. Lightning did not illuminate it. A glowing ball was coming from its center, thin lines raking across the storm. The Soldier slammed the van into park, grabbed his binoculars from around his neck. His jaw dropped as the chopper came closer. There were men inside that luminescent bubble.

Miss Pauling raised a finger, pointing to the glowing aberration in the sky. "Are you all seeing that?"

"Ah ha!" The Soldier slammed a fist onto the van's steering wheel in joy. "I know that light from anywhere!"

"Christ, don't tell me ya've been abducted by aliens before," the Scout's mother grumbled.

The Scout patted his mother's hands, bobbing up and down rapidly. "No, Ma! He's totally bein' sane for once! Ah, man! We're in total luck!"

His mother raised an eyebrow. "What? Glinda the Good Witch gonna drop in on us?"

"No, Ma! It's our guys!" The Scout hopped out of his seat. He began pushing forward on the Soldier's shoulders, like his force was going to throw the car forward. "Come on! Mush! Go catch up widdem!"

The Soldier growled back, "I would, if I had an idea about where they were going!"

"D'ya think they were successful? I'd hate ta think that our missin' laddies are stuck out in this storm somewhere," the Demoman pondered.

The Scout screwed up his face, smirking. "Ah, I wouldn't worry about da Sniper. Dat guy finds sleepin' in roadkill comfortable. Da Spy, though? Oh, man!" He snorted with laughter twice. "He bitches when he gets blood on his suit! What makes ya think he could survive out in the—ow!"

The Scout's mother withdrew her hand from the back of her son's head. "Cripes! Gotta upside all yous guys's heads. And I thought dis job would make ya less mouthy!"

"Listen. Until we can confirm the status of our missing men, we need to get somewhere safe. I doubt this storm will get much better anytime soon." Miss Pauling flinched as a cacophonous bolt snapped through the air. She hunkered down. Even the storms in Australia were more boisterous. "At least, I'd feel better if we could get somewhere safe."

"To the hotel, then," the Demoman agreed. He nodded towards the Soldier. The American man twisted the van's clutch out of park, then threw it back into gear. The van coughed as it was kicked back into gear. It flew down eerily empty streets, throwing watery jets in its wake.

Another growl rushed over the van. Passing a towering hospital, the second vehicle in the sky dashed into view. Even without binoculars, the team could see a black dot leaning out one of the sides of the helicopter. The gales had no effect on its posture, but the helicopter bobbed up and down with the wind's currents. The Soldier tapped on the van's horn twice. There was no indication that anyone from the chopper had heard him over the rolling tempest.

The Bostonian woman sat upright. Her brain clicked, something in her gut stirring. That second helicopter was following the flight path of the first chopper. Granted, it wasn't right on its tail, but it was heading southwest. There were a limited number of reasons that both helicopters would be in the air in such terrible conditions. If the Scout's teammates were anything like her son, then they were stubborn as all get out. They were chasing. That had to mean that first helicopter had to have something important. Maybe some valuable artifact. Perhaps water from the Fountain of Life.

Maybe her man.

"Go southwest," the Scout's mother said.

The Scout turned his attention towards his mother. "What? Our hotel's ta th' north!"

"Look! I've been watchin' that damn shiny helicopter. You say it's your boys? Then follow your boys. Dey're goin' southwest, right after dat first chopper, and dey're not landin'! In a storm like dis? Dey've gotta be nuts. Somethin' important's keeping dem in da air!" his mother argued.

The Demoman perked up. "They're hunting."

The Scout's mother nodded. "Dat's right! If it's just material crap dey're after, den whateva. But if it's my man dey're tryin' ta save, den I ain't lettin' him get away!"

Miss Pauling shrugged. It wasn't a safe option, given the weather, but was worth pursuing. At any rate, the Bostonian woman made a strong case for their chase, even if it was merely pathos. If the only non-mercenary in the car was game for a fight, then disagreeing on behalf of their safety seemed less effective. She bobbed her head towards the Soldier. "Fair enough. Mister Doe, if you would."

He gave her a salute, then slammed on the accelerator.

/***/

Everything was gray.

The Spy closed his eyes, trying to blot the environment out around him. His arms were getting sore from being bound. They burned against his shoulders. Worse than that was the gleeful cheering and planning that Marian and her men were engaged in. If he was lucky, he could lean back and hear nothing but the storm howling around him. If he was extra fortunate, the wind would toss him out of the craft. It had already bucked a loose barrel out of the back. Perhaps it could take him, too.

It was going to be a disaster. It was only a matter of time. If he did not kill them all tonight, then they would murder him tomorrow. Perhaps his petite as well. The day after that, they'd get down to their nefarious work. Then they'd unsuspectingly unleash this monstrous liquid into the public for mass consumption. He did not know what would be the worst scenario. Global annihilation of first-world countries, international fixation on meaningless aesthetics and devolution into Eloi-like creatures—even mundane disaster scenarios like a city-wide poisoning were enough to raise his hackles. There were going to be scores of dead men, women, and children if he did not act. There was only one thing keeping him from acting—Marian's threat against his paramour.

It was time to call her bluff.

Ignoring the prattling going on around him, the Spy's voice cut through the crowd. "Miss Grey!"

Marian raised an eyebrow, pulling her pen away from a notepad. The men around her hushed up as she smirked. "Yes? I'm busy working, Monsieur, so make it quick."

"You still have your satellite phone, do you not?" the Spy asked.

Marian nodded. "Of course."

The Spy pulled himself upright, opening his eyes. "I wish to speak wiz her."

There was a pause as Marian interpreted the Spy's request. She sighed, smiling. "Oh, of course. Let me get a hold of her for you."

Marian rummaged through a small bag next to her ankles. She paused for a moment as winds rocked the chopper. After the whirlybird stabilized, she pulled out the phone. She drew out her dialing, taking as long as possible with each number. Leaning back, she smiled as the connecting tone chimed in her ear. After thirty seconds, she furrowed her eyebrows. At one minute, her face flushed a dark crimson.

"That can't be. Someone should be at the office," Marian muttered.

Slamming the phone down, she dialed again. Another minute passed with no response. She kept dialing and waiting, growing more impatient with every iteration. The Spy lowered his eyebrows, wondering what was going on. Was she dialing the right number? Was the storm interfering with the phone's signal? Or, if she was correct, then why was no one on the other line?

Marian and the Spy came to the same conclusion simultaneously. She snarled, "What have those bastard associates of yours done?"

/***/

From the broad side of the second helicopter, the Heavy hung out of the door frame. The fierce wind and pelting rain did nothing to move him. He was solid, unwavering, a captain at the helm with his thick jaw fixed shut. The little men in the helicopter may have scurried away from the storm's gales, but the Heavy did not flinch. He kept his gaze narrowed into the turbulent night. Their helicopter was closing onto their target's path. It would not be much longer until they would be right on the first chopper's tail.

A soft hand grabbed onto his bicep. The touch was unfamiliar. The Heavy raised an eyebrow as the Sniper braced himself against the massive Russian. Rain splattered across his face, his other hand clutching onto his hat, sunglasses protecting his bright eyes. For such a tall man, he'd always been somewhat ungainly, especially in comparison with the muscle-bound superman that the Heavy was. He hardly looked like a killer now. It was easier for the Heavy to overlook the Australian's transformation if he focused on his teammate's trappings. At least the hat and the glasses remained the same, even if the flesh beneath them had changed.

"We are getting closer, little man. Do you have plan?" the Heavy boomed over a nearby growling cloud.

The Sniper shook his head. "Not a bleedin' idea. Figured we'd improvise."

"Hmm. As always, then. Some things do not change," the Heavy mused. Plucking the Sniper up, he backed away from the door. He dropped his teammate next to the Medic. His German comrade did not appreciate the Sniper's damp clothing soaking into their shared seat, but he didn't complain. A brief, stern glance was exchanged between the Heavy and the Medic, the same worried often face shared between two parents. The Medic snorted, then gave a light nod. He was not to let the Sniper get by the open doors again. Not while he wasn't himself.

The Engineer pulled away from the opposing doorway. He'd been observing the other helicopter's trajectory, using his Wrangler's sight to trace laser paths in the sky. The little light hadn't gotten too far through the clouds. He sat down, putting the safety onto the sentry perched just outside of the door. It beeped three times, then went still.

"I don't think I'll be able to hit their vehicle from here," the Engineer said.

One of the men that had been rescued along with the Sniper piped up. As always, Toaster was running his mouth off. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Were you gonna shoot that chopper down?"

The Engineer shrugged. "Well, we can't ask them ta pull over."

"So, you were gonna crash a chopper full of toxic crap down in the middle of a populated city?" Toaster crossed his arms, then kicked a leg over his opposite knee. "And I thought you were the brains of this operation!"

"Would ya blokes just calm down back there? That helicopter can't go too much further." The pilot's voice rattled from the front of the chopper. "We just follow it ta the ground, 'n then ya blighters can snatch 'em up. Don't sweat it!"

The Sniper peered around the corner, glancing at the city between the gaps in the door and the Heavy's body. He pulled himself to his original position, feeling the Medic's eyes burning into his back. "Ah, sorry. Just wonderin' if I could make a shot from here." He gave a nervous chuckle, then settled into his seat. "Ya know, these legs are pretty strong. Maybe if we get close enough, I could try leapin' ta the other chopper."

The Pyro was oddly enthusiastic about this plan. "Frrk gyea! Errbrsd dr srrd!" He waved the nozzle of his flamethrower in the air, giving the nozzle a squeeze. A blast of oxygen caught both Sensei and Buckaroo off guard. There was a lot for them to be concerned about in regards to that masked man. His passion for erratic plans and peculiar weaponry were only scratching the surface of insanity that was built into the Pyro's very essence.

"Oh, sure, Herr Sniper! Perhaps I can uber you so you vill not die vhen you fall!" the Medic shook his head. He pressed his fingers beneath his glasses, rubbing where plastic knobs braced the lenses against his broad nose.

The Engineer sighed. He thought his troubles with the Sniper were resolved, as far as this mission went. What had been saved wasn't the patient, relaxed man the Engineer had come to know. There was this new drive to the Sniper. Perhaps his transformation had given it to him. Maybe he thought he had something to prove to make up for his absence. Whatever his motivation, the Engineer wished he wouldn't be so eager to put himself in the line of fire.

"Ya alright, Truckie?" the Sniper asked. "Ya look a little pale, mate."

The Engineer shook his head. His mouth went dry. "I'm okay. Don't need ta worry 'bout me none. Just—ah, just a little—cripes, Stretch."

The Sniper's head bounced upright. He knew what that face meant. Sliding away from the Medic's side, he plopped himself next to the Engineer. He grabbed for the Texan's hands. The Engineer raised his eyes to meet the Sniper's face. Holding his left hand—his natural hand—was a common way for the Sniper to reassure him. But his mechanical hand? Almost no one touched that. Sure, his teammates would poke and prod at it like a curious toy, but no one treated it like an actual extension of the Texan. To have the Sniper cradling it in his grasp was peculiar.

"Hey? We're gonna do this, mate," the Sniper said.

"Oh, heck. I ain't worried about that," the Engineer replied.

The Texan's concerns were left unsaid, but the Sniper caught onto them. "Truckie, I ain't gonna break. Look. We're all together, yeah? You, the Doc, the Big Guy, the Dragon, those three gits over there—"

"Hey! I can still hear you jerkwads over the storm!" Toaster interrupted. "Buncha fruits."

The Sniper sighed. "Like I was sayin'. Roight now, it doesn't matter what we've been through. We've gotta get our Spook back."

The rest of his words were shook away by a sudden gust of air. The chopper rocked in the blast. Flinching, the Heavy pulled himself into the helicopter. He slammed the door shut, then sat next to the Medic. The Sniper and the Engineer were startled by the surging current as well. Fingers clutched onto each other, instincts worried more about plummeting than their trivial issues at that exact second. When they were able to return to their original thoughts, they both felt foolish.

"I better get a goddamn medal for all the horse hockey ya put me through," the Engineer laughed.

The Sniper clapped the Texan on the back. "That's more loike it, mate. Tell me when ta shoot, 'n I'll shoot. I ain't some precious little posey that can't hold a gun!"

Another dark chuckle escaped the Engineer. He pushed his fleshy hand beneath the Sniper's hat and ruffled his hair. "Sorry, Mundy. It's hard ta take ya seriously when ya look like ya could be yer own son."

"Oy! Still got my dignity!" The Sniper tucked his hat over his face.

There was a short cough that came from the right side of the vehicle. Both men turned to find the Medic tapping his fingers against his thighs. "If ze frauleins are done wiz zheir little chat, perhaps we can get down to business?"

The Engineer cleared his throat. "Sorry, Doc. Now, what were ya—Oof!"

Any thoughts from the Texan were shook out of his brain. A tumultuous gust had struck the aircraft. The vehicle bucked to the right, slamming any unbuckled occupants into the left side. The aircraft swung for a few moments, rocking back and forth as the pilot fought through the force. Passengers grabbed for their seatbelts, taking the storm more seriously. A burst of thunder boomed as it coursed overhead. With one last nauseating heave, the helicopter leveled itself out.

"Sorry 'bout that, mates. Bit 'a turbulence," the pilot's voice buzzed through the chopper. "Lucky we didn't stall out there, eh? Just give me a moment, and we'll be roight back on—oh, shi—"

The rest of the pilot's expletive language was drowned out by an unearthly screeching. Rotors and gears screamed as the black blades above the chopper met with the side of a skyscraper. Every passenger threw their hands over their heads as glass shattered from windows, both from the helicopter and the building they had crashed into. The chopper thrashed against cement, snapping the vehicle around one-hundred and eighty degrees. Its tail slammed into the build, the back rotor snapping off instantly. Sparks and flame erupted from the torn parts as the chopper plummeted to the ground below, its rotating stumps dragging like claws through wet mud.

The doomed helicopter smashed into the street below with an awful crunch.

ouuuch that crash landing. Didn't break the medigun or anything right..?

WHAT!? IT CUTS OFF THERE?!
My God, right in the middle of the big chase scene and everybody's freaking out and shit has hit the fan so hard the fan ain't spinning and-
CLIFFHANGER.

I am going to sit here consumed with anticipation until this updates.

Waugh, a cliffhanger... You know I'll be waiting to see what happens next!

Cliffhangers. Brilliant, evil cliffhangers.

Captcha, why u in Cyrillic??

Who's gonna be number 100? That's this chapter's cliffhanger!

/***/

Black smoke clouded the Sniper's eyes and lungs as he fought to get out of the crash. He fumbled for the catch on his seatbelt, struggling to free himself from the burning remains of the helicopter. He fell from his seat, landing with an awkward plop on top of the Heavy's torso. The Russian gave a loud growl from the impact. He pushed the Sniper off him, unbuckling himself and scrambling to help the rest of his companions escape the smoldering helicopter.

The Sniper was not so coherent. The wreckage jittered around him, moving in thick blocks of time. It was as if someone was burning a movie reel. He crawled from the spot where he had fallen, arms and legs unsteady as he fought to get himself upright. Rubber gloves and a cold blast of air pushed him out of the wreckage. Rain halted and sped around him, missing frames leaving nothing but dark gaps in his memory. He crawled towards the smooth face of the building that they had just crashed into. Leaning backwards, he forced himself onto his legs. He had to go back into the wreckage. His team needed his help.

He collapsed on his rear end, coughing in fits.

Hands were quick to guide the Sniper once more. They led him towards a whirring sound coming out of the ground. He opened his eyes as the Engineer dropped him next to an assembling dispenser. Pressing against the machine, the Sniper fought to stand upright again. The crash had thrown his back out. The base of his head was damp with thick, hot liquid. The Engineer pushed him down once more. The Sniper stopped fussing as a cool burst of medicine pulsed through the air. He settled down, knowing that he was not going to be of any use if he did not get patched up first.

"The others?" the Sniper coughed.

"Just hold yer horses. They're comin'." The Engineer stood up, wiping rainwater off his goggles. The Sniper raised his head, watching the Pyro push both Buckaroo and Sensei near the dispenser. The Heavy was behind him, a dazed and babbling Medic thrown over his shoulder. Toaster followed the massive Russian. The long-haired pilot was in his care. All of them were charred by the crash, gashes cut across their bodies in a myriad of ways. Being alive was lucky enough.

Toaster sat down next to the Sniper. "Ah, crap. I think I broke my ass."

"Nein. Most likely, you sustained injury to your coccyx," the Medic said. He laughed at how clear he sounded, then murmured, "I vould offer to check for you, but perhaps zhat would be inappropriate in public, hmm?"

Sensei agreed with the Medic's suggested diagnosis. "He has broken it many times before, I am afraid. I believe he is not so graceful." He leaned against the dispenser, then took a large sniff. His eyes widened. "Oh? What is this?"

The Medic beamed. "Zhat is my patented medicine! Zhis machine was designed by mein freund to dispel it in a gaseous form. Smells good, doesn't it?"

"Ah, yes. Perhaps a little too herbal, for my tastes," Sensei smiled.

Buckaroo squinted his eyes. "Wait a minute. This hogwash just magically fixes up the dents in yer body, no matter what the damage or ailment? Pardon me if I offend ya, Herr Doctor, but to me, that sounds like a whole lotta quackery. Like sna—aaah!"

Whatever thoughts Buckaroo was going to share were lost with a sudden squealing of tires. A dirty old van whipped around the corner, going much too fast in the rainstorm. A wave of water rolled in its wake. The survivors scattered from the dispenser as the van screeched to a halt. It fishtailed, slamming its back tires into the curb before stopping. Once both the passengers of the vehicle and the men outside had recovered from the skid, one of the van's windows rolled down.

A boisterous American voice yelled at the rain-soaked survivors. "Slackers! Commies! What the hell did you do?"

The Engineer was the first to recognize the voice. He sauntered over to the van, then leaned against the doorframe. "Hey, Mister. You try flyin' that in this storm."

"I was the bloke doin' the flyin'! If anyone should be bitchin' 'bout the weather, it's me!" the pilot protested. He then shrunk back sheepishly. "Suppose I shouldn't be proud 'a this wreck, though. Crickey. Goin' ta get my pay docked."

The Demoman leaned towards the Engineer. "Aren't those the bastards from the airport in Alexandria? What are they doin' with ya?"

"It's complicated." The Engineer scrunched up his nose. He pulled himself away from the van, its body sticking to his skin for a few moments. "Gaah. What the hell?"

"Hell if we know! Dis plastic thing just landed on us while we were gettin' my ma back! Just wham!" The Scout slapped his fist into his open palm. "Man, you don't think it's bottled airplane crap, do ya?"

The Engineer frowned. "Don't smell like sewage, anyway. Where are y'all headin'?"

"You tell me, Private. We were following you around," the Soldier grumbled.

The Scout's Mother leaned forward, peeking over the Demoman's shoulder. Her face fell. There were several men around the dispenser than the Engineer had erected, but none of them looked like her man. "Suppose ya didn't happen ta see my beau, did ya?"

"'Fraid not. We only found the Sniper, and he wasn't doin' too hot when we found him." The Engineer paused as he studied the group huddled around the dispenser. His eyes felt watery, heat fogging the lenses of his goggles. "Got a seat? I could use it."

The Scout hopped over the backseat. He threw the rear doors open. "Yeah, yeah. Yous guys, get your asses in here! We've gotta get goin'!"

As the Engineer moved towards the back of the van, he stumbled. His heart gave an awful shudder as his nose picked up on an unfamiliar scent. It was coming from the front of the van. There was a noticeable dent in the van's body from where an object had struck it. A sticky substance had clung to it even through the torrential rains. The fluid had an eerie blue quality. It stunk of something sharp and earthy, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

The Engineer collapsed onto the street, his brain throbbing in cold waves. He was pulled into the van by a panicked Scout. Both the Pyro and the Sniper leapt to his aid, skidding on hands and knees as they landed next to his collapsed teammate. The Australian caught the same peculiar scent from the front of the van. His hackles raised instantly, his skin giving an involuntary shiver. As the Heavy came to the van and pulled his friend upright, the Sniper pushed him away from the van's splashed front. "Careful! Don't touch that stuff!"

"What in blazes is goin' on?" the Demoman asked.

The Medic hopped next to the Engineer, quick to take some rudimentary readings. He pulled back in surprise as gold liquid seeped out of the Engineer's left forearm. It was leaking from a good cut he'd received in the crash, mixing with his blood. The fluid was heavy, rolling with beads almost as thick as mercury. The Medic's jaw dropped, uncertain of what he was seeing. From over his shoulder, the five from the van were watching with awe and terror at the transformation overtaking the Engineer.

Even in the thick of his fever, the Engineer was lucid enough to mutter, "Why's my hand meltin'?"

/***/

The Spy's stomach sank as the helicopter began its descent. He sat upright, bracing for impact. It was lucky enough that they hadn't been struck by lightning or swatted out of the sky by the violent winds. He was fortunate to not have a slug in his brain. Despite the lack of communication from her office, Marian was in a pleasant mood. Perhaps it didn't matter what had happened to the rest of her men. The storm had blown her enemies away. Only the Spy was here to directly challenge her, and with his hands tied, there was little he could do.

Machinery growled as a retracting door beneath the helicopter opened. The chopper descended into what appeared to be a cluttered hanger. Other black and grey helicopters sat tucked away, bodies parked precariously close to wooden crates and barrels. The hanger reeked of gasoline and ill-stored chemicals. Their helicopter landed towards the south, rain flicking from its propellers as they slowed and stopped. There was a raucous cheer from Marian's men upon their safe landing. The Spy grimaced, keeping his temper in check. It did him no good to be angry. Frustration never aided him.

Marian was quick to get everyone to work. "Gentlemen, you will find some trucks to the front of the hanger. Fill them up, and head back to my office." She smirked, giving the Spy a quick glance. "Do be careful when you return. We may have some rats to exterminate."

Her men began hauling the tanks out to covered trucks. They were rather unimpressive pieces of machinery, painted a drab olive green and bulky. Some of the vehicles even had rust forming just below their carriage. The Spy scoffed. He was staring at an impending biohazard. This stuff would be splattered all over Brisbane before Marian even got a chance to examine it.

"If you are done rubbing my nose in your victory, could you spare me a few minutes for a cigarette?" the Spy asked Marian.

Marian shrugged. "I don't see why not. I'm thinking of having one myself."

The Spy snorted. "I suppose it would be too much for me to ask you to undo my restraints."

"You're just adorable. Has anyone ever told you that?" Marian patted his face, then whistled for two of her guards. The scrawniest men of the pack broke away. She gave them a terse order as she tapped a cigarette into the Spy's mouth. "Keep an eye on him, would you? I have business to do."

Marian placed a cigarette on her lips, then smirked. There was a sharp click from her lighter. Her cigarette glowed a bright orange in the dark warehouse. She leaned over, then pressed the butt of her cigarette against the Spy's. He held his position, if only to get a decent light. She smiled once more, the sashayed away from him. He grinned as well. She could humiliate him all she wanted. It would make his revenge all the sweeter.

The Spy rocked on his heels as he smoked, letting nicotine fuel his brain. Escaping wouldn't be so difficult. Any of the vehicles in the near vicinity would do. There were two immediate obstacles keeping him from escaping. The first of his problems was his missing gear. All he had was the golden watch on his arm. It had been spared only because no one knew of its purpose. The second issue to resolve was what to do about his cuffs. If he could just get one of these blockheads to cut them loose—

As he thought, the Spy's cigarette dropped out of his mouth.

He was mocked by his guards as the cigarette rolled away. It followed the contour of the cement floor. The butt landed next to a sticky puddle of glop that had leaked out of a nearby metallic barrel. The Spy sighed, knowing that his cigarette was dead to him. He then yelped as the puddle caught fire. Both of his guards ducked as an orange flash engulfed the leaking gasoline barrel. It exploded, quickly catching fire to the rubbish strewn about the hanger.

The blast threw the Spy and his guards to their feet. It tossed unsteady helicopters onto their sides. One crashed down next to the Spy's head, shrapnel from its propeller striking one of his guards in the face. The other one screamed in terror, bolting away from the wreckage as fast as he could. The Spy hissed as doors slammed from behind his head. Damn! They were escaping!

The Spy squirmed over to the fallen helicopter blade. He sawed the plastic cuffs against its sharp edge. With a pop, he snapped his wrists free. He scrambled to his feet, slamming on his golden watch moments before an enemy mook drew a bead on his head. He ducked just as a bullet whistled past his ear. Multitudes more fired wildly in the dark. Others panicked and left, more committed to their lives and transporting their goods than murdering a rogue agent. Marian was amongst the fleers, her vehicle the first to escape the burning hanger.

Not bothering to fight the horde of guards, the Spy sprinted past Marian's men. His target was the last remaining truck in the lot. It hadn't been filled with any containers, but it was still hotly prized. Two men were fighting over ownership of the wheel. One kicked his coworker aside, keys flying in the air in the chaos. They scrambled on the ground to get them back. A ghostly hand picked them up. Both men stopped in their panic, horrified at the specter now leaping into their truck.

"Allons-y!" the Spy taunted the men as he decloaked, then slammed out of the hanger's driveway.

/***/

The Sniper was not the most knowledgeable or intelligent of men. Not to say that he was a complete dunce, but he relied on his reflexes and his past experiences to overcome his situations. Base levels of competence were all he needed to survive. Nobody relied on him to fix a complicated piece of machinery or care for the well-being of his teammates. That was what the Medic and the Engineer were supposed to do. Neither of them could fulfill that role at this moment. The best the Medic could hope to do was keep his medigun aimed at the Engineer and hope he would overcome his blistering fever. Knowing how much Australium the Texan had handled in his life, the Sniper knew that he was going to lose his teammate to a horrible death.

It was then that the Sniper knew what he had to do. "Truckie, I'm so sorry."

The Sniper jammed his left pointer and middle fingers into the Engineer's throat. He struck the soft palate, then retracted his hand. The Engineer gave a startled cough, then leaned forward. The Sniper pushed his head out of the van as the Texan vomited up the contents of his stomach. It appeared to be normal bile. His stomach contents hadn't turned to solid Australium yet. He gave another coughed sound, then threw up again. Gold ooze seeped out of his mouth. It was a thick film with greater consistency than molasses. He kept regurgitating, the last of his stomach's contents rock-solid from being coated and solidified by hardening Australium. He was in luck—he'd passed his stomach contents before they could solidify in his throat.

The Texan spat, then sank onto the floor. He squawked with the awkwardness of a teenage boy. "What…in…Sam Hill?"

"That stuff on the front 'a the van? It causes a reaction with Australium." The Sniper patted his friend's back as he explained. "In some of us, it caused nausea and vomitin'. A few men died from that Australium gettin' stuck in their throats. 'Specially if they had too much in their body. That's how Toaster lost a man."

The Medic's eyes widened. "I see! Zhat is quite ze toxin!"

"God, that looked like it hurt." Miss Pauling fished a tissue from her blouse. She leaned over the back seat, then patted at the Engineer's face. Her cheeks went bright pink. "Wow. That…that really…wow."

The Scout's mother was less subtle with her amazement. "Whoa, honey! What, did dat take ten years off ya? Lookin' pretty foxy!"

"Let's…let's just get goin', huh? Sooner we stop this stuff from hittin' the streets, the better," the Engineer's face flushed red, though it was hard to tell if it was a lingering side effect or embarrassment.

That was all the direction the Heavy needed. He did not need to see any other person undergo that terrible transformation. He stormed out of the van, turning to face the pilot. "Where do we go to stop bossy woman?"

The pilot's eyes widened. He nodded once, then began fishing around in his pockets. He produced a battered paper card. The Heavy took it from him. It was a business card, complete with company logo, name, telephone number, and address.

The pilot explained his hunch. "Look. There's only a certain kind 'a bloke that heads out on a chopper ta weird-ass places. 'Specially for shady folks like you all. The other pilot was one of my mates." He scrunched up his face, forcing some pained emotion down his throat. "Be good ta him, yeah? Just doin' his job is all."

"You are not coming with us?" the Heavy asked.

"I think somebody should be 'round ta report this mess ta the jacks," the pilot replied.

His face set with a stern expression, the Heavy nodded. He reached down to shake the pilot's hand. His massive palm was larger than the entirety of the pilot's hand. The pilot clapped him on the back of his hand, then shooed him away. The Heavy stepped into the van, its suspension rocking from his bulk. The Sniper popped his head out, about to shut the van's door, but he paused as he realized that no one else was following the Heavy. Not the pilot, and not Toaster's crew. That wouldn't do. Even in a deadly situation, he had to be polite. Jumping out of the van, he returned to Toaster and his remaining men, then removed his hat.

"Oh, no no no. That's it, buddy," Toaster tried to get the Sniper to go away.

"Come on, mates. You blokes got ta want revenge as bad as I do," the Sniper grumbled.

Buckaroo screwed up his face. "Ya know, Toaster's right. There's not all that much room for the four of ya in the back. What makes ya think we can fit in?"

The Sniper laughed. "Suppose I could ride on top 'a the van.

"Ah, Sniper-san. Your offer is good." Sensei tipped his head out of embarrassment and frustration. "You must understand. Our path did not start with you in our company, and it will not end that way."

Toaster clapped a hand against his forehead. "Look. We'll get this report out as soon as possible, okay? Then we'll steal a cop car and join you guys. Hell, long as we've got the pilot, we can get to that address." Toaster stood up, his bones aching even with support from the dispenser. He burned his stern glance into the Australian's gaze. "Just promise me one thing. If you find her, let her live."

The Sniper drew his head back. "Why?"

Toaster growled. "Some bastards don't deserve the peace that death brings."

His thoughts were crystal clear to the Sniper. The Australian bowed his head, then nodded. Nothing more needed to be said. He raised his clean hand to Toaster. The American took it gruffly, giving him a sharp shake. He released his tight grip on the Sniper's hand, then smacked him once on the shoulder. That was as close to an encouraging speech as he was going to get. Toaster pushed the Sniper towards his teammates, his friends waving him off.

The Sniper clambered into the back of the van, then threw the door shut and sank down. Leaving them was harder than he'd imagined it would be. It wasn't as if they were always the most likeable or ethical of people. They just shared a similar experience. Specters clawed at his stomach as he thought of the miseries they had caused and observed. He couldn't think about the past just yet. He was back with his team. He had to focus on them.

That was easy to do with an exhausted Engineer lying on his side. The Sniper stretched an arm around the short Texan, then sighed. "Rough, ain't it?"

"Feel like death warmed over," the Engineer huffed.

The Sniper nodded. He didn't say anything in response. The knot in his gut twisted again. A dead man's gorged throat haunted his memories. It was horrible enough knowing that he had seen one man die. To not know of the Spy's fate was worse. He squeezed the Texan, glad to have at least one man saved.

Brisbane flew past the team as they hurtled towards the address in the Heavy's hand. Each person was prepping for combat. The Heavy gave his mingun one loving pat, feeding a healthy strand of ammunition into her. The Demoman was shoving bombs and rockets into both his weapons and the maniacal driver's launchers. Miss Pauling passed a hand cannon to the Scout's mother. The Scout's eyes boggled, jealous of the toy his mother got to play with. The Medic took a hit off his medigun, whooping excitedly. The Sniper gave the Engineer's leg a pat, then got to cleaning the rifle on his back. It wouldn't be long before his Texan companion would have his arsenal of machines up and going.

Little did they know that the battlefront was rising up to meet them.

Oh, yes. The boys get to do what they do best.

Man, I got so worried when Engie got the stuff on him since he deals with Australium so much. I wonder if it's going to affect his right hand at all, Spy's teeth grew back and all so I wonder what's going to happen with Engie?

I also like Medic topping himself off with his own Medigun. Not that he enjoys the high, oh no. Strictly medical. Yep.

Aaaah, I was worried for Engineer there. Hopefully they'll all get a little of their own back, now that shit's about to get really really serious.

100 GET

>>103
Fuck. C'mon. Really? Not only did you not sage, your post was completely redundant to the story. And you aren't even post 100, you're late by at least six days.

Then let's make a legitimate post.

Have a climax! And by a climax, I mean...err...the highest action point where everything comes together and...well, not that other thing that puts you on the other board.

If it's not strong enough, let me know. I think it works for what it is, but if it's not enough, let me know how you think I should spice it up.

/***/

The streets of Brisbane were drowning in cascades of water. Rain flowed to clogged gutters, packing rubbish tighter into the strained drains. Swift winds splattered rainwater down glassy skyscrapers. The skies flashed blue and white as lightning raced in sinewy bands across burdened clouds. Thunder and growling gales drowned out the sounds of emergency vehicles flying around in the storm in distant corners of the city. Waves spun and crashed around the tires of another vehicle that rushed across the city. This lone rusting van moved with determination and urgency, racing to stop a toxic flood that threatened to poison the metropolis.

The man in the shotgun seat of the van focused his one good eye on a street sign that disappeared in a deluge of water like a wavering mirage. "Okay. Ten streets more, 'n we take a left."

"For God's sake, Tavish! There has to be a faster route!" the driver spat. The bridge of his nose crashed into his wrongly-sized helmet as he threw his head back in disgust.

"I was the one smart enough ta buy a damn map, Jane!" the Demoman rumbled. "And ya thought that I was bein' a peckerhead in the gift shop! Least I got somethin' useful!"

The Soldier was quick to shout back. "Hey! That boomerang will be extremely useful in our operations!"

The Demoman shook his head. "Maybe if ya jam it up someone's arse!"

"Oh, for cryin' out loud!" The Scout's head hit the back of his seat as he groaned. "Could ya mooks cram it? Focus on the drivin'! Then we can worry about the ass beatin'!"

Snapping his head around, the Soldier barked at the Scout. "Son, if anyone needs to be focusing on anything—"

The rest of his sentence was cut off by loud honking. The Soldier jolted back into position just as a series of white circular lights flashed in his eyes. Everyone in the van shrieked in fright as the Soldier whipped the van out of oncoming traffic. Tarp-covered trucks rushed past them. Each vehicle followed its predecessor in a straight, evenly spaced line. The trucks towards the back were covered in ash and char, their tarps blackened and burned. The van idled quietly as the caravan passed, its occupants still startled by their near miss. It could have been as bad as being hit by a freight car.

It must have been a minute before anyone could recover from the near miss. The Scout was the first one to break the quiet. "Told ya."

"Stuff it, hippie," the Soldier replied. He scowled as the Scout's mother struck him in the back of his helmet with an open palm. "Sorry, Ma'am."

"Let's get back to the mission. We don't have much time," Miss Pauling urged.

"Hold on." The Demoman nodded his head towards an oncoming vehicle. "There's another one."

It was another truck of the same build as the caravan's components. This last truck was black as pitch, paneling too dull to reflect from the traffic lights and claps of lightning. The fabric covering the back of the truck was completely burned away. It was hesitant as it approached the stopped van, water cresting at lower heights as it slowed down. The driver's side window descended. The truck's sole occupant leaned out, rain washing soot out of his dark hair. "Excusez-moi. Did you happen to see a large—Mon dieu!"

The occupants of the van erupted with cheerful whooping. The truck's driver pulled himself upright in shock. Crawling over Miss Pauling and her son, the Scout's mother leaned her head over the front seat. She flew back to her position, flinging the side door open. She leapt onto the road, bare feet and legs splashing in the streets. Rushing to the nearest door of the truck, she pulled herself inside the second vehicle and threw her arms around the neck of the driver. He leaned into her grasp, placing his right hand on her face.

They both blurted, "What are you doing here?"

"Came here ta save yer ass. Got kidnapped. Lost my shoes. Met up with yer coworkers. You?" The Scout's mother asked.

The Spy smirked. "Mostly ze same. However, I still have my shoes."

"Oh, sure! Rub it in!" the Scout's mother teased. She pointed towards the direction that the caravan had headed. "Dat Marian 'n her group?"

The Spy nodded. "I was going to ask for police assistance in tracking zhem down."

The Scout's mother screwed up her face. "Forget about dat! We were already plannin' on kickin' her ass! Let's roll!"

"Just one moment." The Spy leaned out of the truck, peering into the van across the way. "Do any of you know of ze where-abouts of ze Sniper?"

There was a scramble from the back of the van. Miss Pauling scooted out of the way as the Sniper climbed over the back seat. Glancing out, he watched the Spy's eyes widen ever so slightly. There was a sudden hard beat in the Sniper's chest. Neither man anticipated seeing the other alive. At least, not so soon. There could have been hundreds of words shared between the two, vocalizations of the fears that each one had for the other's fate. At that moment, it would have just stalled them more. They smiled, knowing what had to be done.

The Sniper clambered into the back seat, then grabbed his supplies. "Soldier, lead the Spy back ta Marian's office. If her group opens fire on us, return it. I'm gonna have ta gun for him."

The Scout's mother had her own set of orders. She yelled into the other van. "Scooter Pie! You get over here, too!"

"Ma! I don't wanna—ugh, fine." Even the Scout knew that there was a limitation to how much whining he could do.

The Scout beat the Sniper out of the side door. The Australian hustled behind him. He paused once, stopping briefly as he caught sight of the Engineer. Another thud rocked in his chest, dread catching him in the throat. The other vehicle was lacking in medical support. He couldn't ask the Medic to leave the Engineer's side, especially not after how badly the exposure to that strange sap had drained him. He certainly couldn't ask the Engineer to step up to the plate so swiftly, either. The Sniper had barely been able to sit up after drinking the substance. He wouldn't have been able to function. It wouldn't be fair to ask more out of the Engineer than what he could have done himself.

"Doc. Take care of Truckie, yeah?" the Sniper murmured.

The Medic shooed the Sniper out of the vehicle. "Get going, Dummkopf! You are vasting time!"

The Engineer waved the Sniper out. "I'll be okay, Mundy. Just get—"

He grunted, leaving his sentence unfinished. Pain in his right arm pinched on nerves that had long been severed and dead. The Engineer tried wriggling the fingers in his Gunslinger. They were moving with strange starts and stops. Something was wrong with the contraption. He pulled the prosthesis off its base, then growled as he ripped the lower half free from where it had been fastened to his arm. The forearm beneath it was longer, growing out into a wrist. The Texan studied his stump, watching in surprise as new muscles moved under his control.

"Think my hand's growin' back," the Engineer mumbled.

The Sniper beamed. "Keep workin' on that!" He threw the door shut behind him, quick to leap into the open bed of the Spy's truck. He gave two pats on the top of the truck, then hunkered down. The rental van charged forward first, cutting an open path through the flooding streets. That didn't spare the Sniper from becoming drenched within seconds. Both vehicles sped to make up for lost time. At least they didn't have to guess which way to head.

Car lights flared in the raging storm. Citizens who had not made it to their shelters were quick to flee from the speeding truck and van. Traffic bulbs burned bright and green, swaying in the strong winds. They ushered the rushing duo of vehicles onward. Within a few minutes, rectangular, heavy trucks came back into view. They were plowing through flooded streets, drenching unfortunate citizens as they continued on. Every armed teammate loaded their weapons, preparing for a nasty battle. They weren't going to open fire until given a reason. Still, it didn't hurt to be ready.

The Soldier threw a turning signal on. As soon as oncoming traffic broke, he diverged into the opposing lane. The street opened up as he accelerated, two lanes splitting into four. The few people who were foolish enough to keep driving in such dangerous conditions were quick to swerve out of the way. They slammed on their horns, cursing in dialects too thick for the Soldier to properly understand. He pushed the van next to the tail-end member of Marian's caravan. With a quick spin of the wheel, he slammed into the truck, forcing it across another lane and into a street light pole.

"Careful, you imbecile!" the Spy shouted.

"Aw, am I being too violent? Are the cops gonna arrest me?" The Soldier was quick to yell back. "Get behind me, Frenchie! We're going to cut this caravan in half!"

Rolling his eyes, the Spy swerved his truck behind the Soldier's van. The Sniper clung onto the tarp support beams over his head, waiting for a perfect opportunity to counterattack. Marian's men were quick to pick up on the aggressors at their heels. Several of them opened fire. White hot bullets lit up the dark rainwater, burning past the vehicles with searing hisses. They trailed bright light across the churning streets.

More ammunition sailed across the dreary night sky. It did not come from any standard gun. The objects were round, covered with sticky barbs. They cascaded onto a stop light. A wild laugh escaped the Soldier's vehicle as the Demoman detonated his trap. The light crashed into the middle of the trucks. It took down the first vehicle in its path. Another slammed into the rear of the stopped truck. Most of the following vehicles were able to swerve out of the path. The Demoman drew a few more bombs, blasting the light out of the way for his team. The duo of vehicles raced on, quick to catch the caravan's tail once more.

A goon cried out in the night as his hand exploded with pain. The weapon he had been wielding went sailing harmlessly down the street. The Sniper moved from his standing position, leaning forward on the truck's roof as he picked another target. A shotgun disintegrated into pieces. A tire blew, air hissing as rubber slapped into water. Another truck stalled, unable to keep after the enthusiastic gunmen and the escaping caravan.

Olive green mist billowed into the streets. A putrid stench washed over the two vehicles. Both the truck and the van rolled up their windows. The Sniper hunkered down, grabbing a hunk of tarp to throw over his mouth. The rain did its best to dispel the stinking cloud of poison, but it hit him hard. He abandoned his position, throwing himself over the side of the truck. The Scout's mother forced open the door nearest to him and pulled the Australian inside. He wretched twice, his eyes burning in irritation.

"Gonna be a few minutes before I can fire again," the Sniper gasped.

"We will just have to keep on zhem, in ze meantime," the Spy muttered.

The Scout cupped his hands around his eyes. "Man, I think we lost da odders."

"Patience, Scooter. We're right behind dem. Dey won't leave us." His mother gave him a bright smile, then turned her attention to the Sniper. She pushed his head down towards his knees. "Here. Sit like dis until yer better. Atta boy."

Both the Soldier's van and the Spy's truck broke free from the gas attack. The Pyro popped his head out to attack first. He snaked the head of his flamethrower out of the vehicle. He pressed on the gas feed twice, then squeezed a heavy burst of air out of its tanks. The gust of wind was enough to rock an opposing truck's occupants backwards. The vehicle tipped just a touch, baring its underside for one moment. The Pyro ignited the gas feed, bathing the truck's belly in a plume of fire. In panic, the opposing truck fell backwards. It slammed rear-end first into an oncoming truck, taking out two vehicles at once.

As the Pyro fell back to reload, the Heavy threw open the sliding door to the back of the van. His minigun growled as it chewed through metal and rubber. Water splattered and hissed under impact from a few strange rounds. Some of Marian's men turned their attention to opening fire on him. Their bullets were no greater deterrents to the Heavy than mosquito bites. He was bathed in a heavenly glow as the Medic kept his medigun aimed at him. As the last round left his gun, another truck peeled away in disgraceful defeat. He leaned back, reaching for a fresh belt of ammunition from the Engineer's dispenser. He gave the tired little man a grin, then fell back to his position.

"Ah, man! How many more 'a dese vehicles does dat bitch have?" the Scout whined.

The Spy tipped his head. "Not too many more. She should be in ze first vehicle."

The Sniper lifted his eyes. Marian's truck was not too far out of his sight. It was skittering across two lanes of traffic, weaving back and forth indecisively. With a large wake of water, it thrashed to the left. Its following vehicles shook back and forth, splitting randomly in different directions. The van in front of them scrambled around, not sure which way to follow. It continued straight past the intersection, following after most of the remaining trucks.

"Left! She's left!" the Sniper shouted.

A man with less faith in his teammate would have disregarded the Sniper's command. It made sense to keep with the majority of their companions. The Spy made no such hesitation. He turned to the left, narrowly avoiding an oncoming car. He slammed on the accelerator, catching up to the rear end of Marian's last following vehicle. Water churned beneath his tires, splattering against his windshield in a thick veil.

The Scout's mother readied the gun that Miss Pauling had given her. "Let's get dis guy outta da way. With me, kiddo?"

The Scout gave his mother a nod. "Hell yeah! I've got my side!"

Mother and son rolled down the window, leaning out in unison. They lowered the barrel of both their pistols towards the truck's tires. Two cracks fired in quick succession. The right tire popped, then the left. The truck bounced as its tires deflated, rims sparking beneath the flood waters. Swinging around the vehicle, the Spy pressed onto his last target.

A toxic plume rolled over the vehicle as the Scout and his mother fired two more shots. Their rounds had burst the final truck's tires just as before. Both family members reeled back from the gas. The Sniper was quick to roll up the Scout's mother's window, pressing his soaking shirt over her mouth to prevent any further inhalation. The Scout took care of his window, but threw up on his shoes shortly afterwards.

"Cheatin' bitch," the Scout huffed.

The Spy smirked. "Zat is my opinion."

Shots broke through the windshield of their truck. Everyone ducked down as bullets rained overhead. Even if Marian's vehicle had been stopped, its occupants had not. The Spy threw a hand over his mouth. He spared a glance over the dashboard. Three unique bursts of gunfire were coming from Marian's men.

He scowled. "Sniper. Scout. Wizh me!"

All three men loaded their weapons. The Scout's mother kept low, preparing to fire if she had to. The Spy commanded them swiftly, giving each man a direction to fire with a flick of his right index finger. He took a deep breath, then counted to them. "Un…deux…trois!"

The Scout was the fastest to fire, as always. He buried three rounds into the arms of his target. The Spy was next, blowing a revolver out of his target's hands. Not to say there was much of the guard's hands left after his round embedded into them. The Sniper took his shot last. It was well aimed, honed in on his target's neck. His shot went off course as an unaccounted fourth gun fired. The last guard was struck in his lower abdomen, collapsing in a heap in the back of the last truck. The Sniper fell backwards, grabbing at his left cheek in shock. A trail of blood gushed from his face.

For a man that had nearly been shot in the head, the Sniper was not grateful for having survived. "Sonnova bitch! Just got rid 'a this bloody scar!"

Hearing the Sniper's voice was enough to snap the Spy back on track. He raised his gun once more, threatening the last firer. He roared into the storm, "Mademoiselle Grey! Surrender now!"

Marian responded with another shot. The Spy winced as it bounced off the dashboard. He opened one irritated eye. The toxic smoke had saved them from her fire. She mustn't have had as clear of a shot. The Spy smirked. He knew when to take a good opportunity. Slamming on his wristwatch, he pushed out of the truck and waded through the stormy waters. He sloshed to the passenger's side door, finding Marian trembling, an arm thrown over her face and another unsteady hand shaking. Thunder clapped overhead, and she shivered once more.

The Spy might have had pity on her, had she not so grievously wronged him.

He grabbed her armed hand. She shrieked in terror as his invisible hand came into view around her wrist. She fired once, striking a street light. Glass and electrical sparks rained down. The Spy wrenched her arm back, smashing her hand against the door's window frame. Marian responded with a punch to his solar plexus. Wincing, the Spy fought to hold onto her. She wasn't all that strong, but she fought dirty. She hit him once more, striking a sensitive cluster of nerves. He fell backwards, landing next to a surging water main.

Marian threw herself out of the car. She glanced down the street, loading her gun once more. She did not get far before an ominous click stopped her. Three dark figures rushed to the Spy's aid. Glancing up, the Spy saw his petite standing at his side, the Scout next to her. Both of them had guns drawn towards Marian's forehead. As the Sniper lifted the Spy out of the gutter, the Frenchman could not take his eyes off the Scout's mother. Never before had she looked so powerful, her shoulders held high and proud. His heart palpitated.

"'Kay, Ma'am? Gonna ask ya ta cut the crap," the Scout's mother demanded. "Unless ya want me ta make dat beauty mark 'a yers a little bigger."

Vehicle lights flooded the street behind Marian's head. She turned her neck, watching as a thick, dark automobile pulled in. Giving the Scout's mother her attention again, she smirked. "Cute. Really, darling. I admire your style. Still, my ride is here. I've got to be going."

The Scout's mother tipped her head towards the parking vehicle. "Yeah. Yer goin' somewhere, alright."

Marian turned around once more to find herself staring into the eyes of six angry men and one perturbed assistant. Each one of them had their own unique and intimidating weapon pointed squarely at her. Her eyelids lowered as she smiled. Of course. She'd forgotten about the rest of the Spy's little friends. She looked once more at the two men she had held captive, then sighed. It was easy to tame them when they couldn't resist. Now, they had the upper hand. Even she had to know when to let a business partnership end.

Marian dropped her gun. "Fine. You win."

I'm surprised at the lack of ANY reaction Scout's mom had to Spy's appearance.

...Goddammit. I knew I forgot something. I'm such a damn failure sometimes.

Screw it. I'll have them discuss it more in the next chapter. I was initially planning to not have her react that much at all, considering that she and the Spy have been having an affair for decades. Between all the things that had happened to her that day, seeing a younger Spy probably wouldn't have flipped her out too much.

I would delete the chapter and repost it, but frankly, not much changed over all. In other publications, I changed the dialogue where they meet to this:

They both blurted, "What are you doing here?"

"Came here ta save yer ass. Got kidnapped. Lost my shoes. Met up with yer coworkers. You?" The Scout's mother asked.

The Spy smirked. "Mostly ze same. However, I still have my shoes. New face, too."

"Eh, I've seen it before. Been twenty-five years, though," the Scout's mother teased. She pointed towards the direction that the caravan had headed. "Dat Marian 'n her group?"

>>107 Eh, don't sweat it. Happens all the time to me.

Well, I guess it's time to do a curtain call.

At the end of the day, I could have done more for it. Particularly, I could have made the Spy more aggressive. It was something different to write, so that was worthwhile. I learned quite a bit by researching for it as well.

I hope you've enjoyed the story, warts and all.

/***/

Morning broke through thick clouds like a golden miracle. The city below the sun's glittering rays was coming alive. Rain water rushed down paved streets, gurgling as the last of it slipped away. Fire and ash were smothered. Burned buildings were black, but stable. Chunks of vehicles and stop light debris littered highways, but it was manageable to get around. The warzone and toxic hazard that had plagued it last night was swept under the city, like so much dirt and debris beneath a rug.

Now, Inspector Anderson had to deal with the remaining scum.

Women and men alike were arrested during the night, left in his department's care. Most of them were middle aged bald thugs. Some were young men, probably not much older than twenty five. A few women were among them. Too many of them were mouthy Americans demanding for their lawyers or phone calls. One particularly disturbed individual had been unresponsive during his interrogation, claiming that any information he divulged about what happened last night would label him a Tory. It was with great frustration that he finally found one of the arrested who was calm enough to talk with him.

The inspector offered the cooperative prisoner a seat. "If ya would please."

"Thank you," the short woman replied. She was dark haired, outfitted with cat's eye glasses. It was hard to believe she was American, considering her passive and cool response to her incarceration. Taking a seat in a blue plastic chair, she adjusted her glasses, then her shirt's collar.

"Now, if ya would be so kind, I would loike ta ask ya a favor," Inspector Anderson stated. He sat down, his blue uniform sharp against his sagging features. He reviewed his chart, his long face screwed up in a frown. "Miss Pauling, I ain't goin' ta lie to ya. You and yer blokes are in a mess 'a trouble. If you can get any of them ta plead, it would speed up our processin' by quoite a bit."

Miss Pauling raised her gaze. "What are we being charged with?"

The inspector gave a low whistle. "Destruction 'a public 'n private property. Aggravated assault. Reckless drivin'. We've got ta go through some bodies from a warehouse down town, as well. I'm guessin' it won't take my men long ta pin the fire there on yer men."

"I can guarantee that any injuries my men inflicted were solely in self-defense," Miss Pauling responded tersely.

Inspector Anderson raised an eyebrow. "That includin' the invasion of public property at Miss Grey's office? Some 'a her employees are claimin' yer boys were involved with their injuries as well."

"I'm sure you've spoken to those involved with that situation," Miss Pauling sighed. She leaned forward, crossing her arms at the wrist. "We could be filing a kidnapping report against them. I think you'd know that, if you talked to the other woman from our party."

"Quoite roight. We plan on chargin' them, too. Gonna make a bloody mess of our court system for a bit," Inspector Anderson nodded.

Miss Pauling smirked. "Of course, you know what would simplify your work load."

Inspector Anderson tensed up. "Now, see here, Miss. The law's the law. I can't let any 'a ya off for any offense. It's up ta the courts ta decide what's what. That's not my job, after—"

Two rings hissed through the interrogation room. They repeated again, buzzing from an old telephone. Inspector Anderson frowned, then reached a mighty paw towards the phone. He picked it off its cradle, mumbling a brief acknowledgement. Miss Pauling sat back. Her composure relaxed, a slow smile spreading across her face as Inspector Anderson's skin blanched. His jaw dropped as a horrible voice slithered into his ear. Nightmares worse than any terrors dredged up from the sea wrapped around his brain. A chain-smoking, steely whisper in his ear broke the rigid spine of the lawman.

He gently placed the phone down after the snake untangled itself from his brain. "Y-you and yer mates are free ta go, Miss Pauling."

The short woman smiled. "Thank you, Inspector Anderson."

"Puh-please just go. Don't come back," the inspector stammered. "Don't send her after me."

Miss Pauling kept her small grin. For such a selfish, vain woman, the Administrator always seemed to come through for her.

/***/

It did not take long for Miss Pauling and her companions to get back to the airport. Most of them hadn't even had time to unpack. They would be landing in Dallas in a little over half a day. That gave the company some time to rest. The men needed it. Most of them were lacking sleep. After coming down from their adrenaline high from the chase, they were sleeping upright even in their ride to the airport. The police had escorted them out the entire way, of course. They were going to make sure that none of them were going to go off to some other part of the city and destroy that.

They were seen off by one last group in the airport. Three men were sitting around a television set, playing a sort of game with a news cast. The loudest of the three kept loudly proclaiming when a fact was wrong. He was waving half a chewed banana at the screen, highlighting every wrong ticker tape factoid with a loud exclamation. The roundest member would merely nod in agreement. The quietest would give a look over his shoulder, embarrassed with the ruckus his friends were making. That was how he caught the attention of the crew from New Mexico.

Sensei gave a tap on his boss's shoulder. "We have company, I think."

Toaster glanced over the couch. He gave a loud whoop, then vaulted over its back. He hopped next to the Spy and Sniper, giving both men broad hugs. The Soldier retaliated with a grunt and a shove, not happy that strangers were touching his men. His teammates had to quiet him down. His attitude changed as soon as he had an explanation for why strangers were touching his teammates.

"So, where are ya blokes goin'?" the Sniper asked.

"Kyoto," Buckaroo stated. "Ol' Sensei's got a rich family back home. They donated a heck of a lot 'a dough to this temple there. Ya ought ta see it. Orange gates! Thousands of orange gates! Foxes 'n frogs, too. I don't quite get it. Somethin' 'bout grain gods. Not exactly the kinds 'a animals I'd pick fer that kinda thing."

The Spy nodded. "Paying your respects?"

Sensei bobbed his head as well. "I know of no better place to pray."

There was an awkward silence between the former rivals. There was no accusation or crying from any of Toaster's men. Boomer's death had been accepted. They had come to terms with it through the night. His missing presence was still like a gaping hole in their formation, however. The Sniper fumbled for his hat, then lowered it across his chest. Toaster sniffled, but didn't say anything. He merely gave a soft nod. His friends followed likewise.

"He doesn't have any family lookin' for him?" the Sniper asked.

Toaster gave a pathetic chuckle. "Well, he left his dad in the Himalayas. His mom never made it out of Tasmania. Hell, last I heard from his brother, he was going to go diving in the Seine. His family's everywhere, I guess. So is he."

The Scout's mother piped into the conversation. "Some families run like dat. Can't change 'em. Lord knows I've tried."

"Hey!" the Scout interjected. "Whaddya mean by dat?"

The Spy chuckled, a small snort slipping between his laughs. He collected himself, then apologized. "Je suis désolé. I forgot myself for a moment."

"Ah, well. Can't be sad forever, right? Just for a little bit," Toaster sighed. "At least, I don't think he'd want me moping around."

"Perhaps it's a good time ta think about yer future. What'll ya be doin' after Kyoto?" the Sniper pondered.

Toaster lifted his head. "You know what? I hadn't thought about that. Guess we're out of a job, huh?"

Buckaroo grumbled. "I suppose we rode that train as far as it could go. Still, there's always another treasure to be found."

"You know, some say that the Yasakani-no-Magatama is a forgery," Sensei offered. "Perhaps we can verify its authenticity?"

Toaster screwed up his face. "Oh, hell no! If we're going to steal any gemstone, we're going after that rock that Rachel stole from us!"

The Spy shrugged his shoulders. "At ze very least, you could sell off your story."

Toaster threw an arm around the Spy's shoulders. "You see this guy? I like the way he thinks."

The group's banter was interrupted by soft beeping from above their heads. A pleasant voice kindly reminded the people from Teufort about their gate and departing time. They weren't running late, but they were cutting it a little too close for comfort. Miss Pauling waved most of her group along, quick to get them scurried towards their destination. The Spy and the Sniper lingered for a moment, each man giving a quick handshake and a pat to Toaster's crew.

The Sniper lifted a pen from his vest pocket. Taking the lid off with his teeth, he wrote a phone number and a zip code on a nearby scrap of newspaper. He tore it off, giving the sheet to Toaster. "If yer in the United States, give us a ring. That's our main line and our town. Tons 'a explosions 'round it. Can't miss it."

"I don't know. I try to stay away from explosions when I can," Toaster grumbled.

"It is not quite as terrifying as you may imagine it to be." The Spy gave Toaster one last pat on his shoulder. "Take care of yourselves, mes amis."

Toaster and his men nodded. "You too."

/***/

The trip home went fast. Everyone slept through the flight. The road trip back to Teufort didn't take long, either. Events moved in a flash. The team was just happy to be back together again. The only concept of time they had was Miss Pauling's gentle guidance pushing them from one rest stop to the next. If they weren't driving or eating, then they were resting. The Scout's mother had taken residence on the Spy's chest for most of the tour, which irritated the young Bostonian to no end. The Spy did not tease him, however. He was content to be heading back to the closest thing he had to a stable home.

Of course, it didn't hurt that he'd smuggled out some of the mysterious substance from the strange tree on Fraser Island. The Medic had been all over that in no time. Within a few hours, he'd replicated the substance's contents enough to let everyone on their team have a shot. Of course, the Administrator and Miss Pauling had both been offered some of the stuff. They had both declined. Miss Pauling didn't think it would work on her, and the Administrator kept mumbling some concern about contamination.

They wouldn't be able to keep their forms. Just until their next battle. Then, they'd disappear with their first revival. The Engineer had made a copy of their changes in the respawn machine, but he was ordered by the Administrator not to use them unless she said so. That was the way it always went. She owned every piece of data and research, even the very content of their genetic code. Disturbing, perhaps, but that was part of their contract.

That left two items available to the Spy—the night, and one of the last remaining specimens from the so-called Fountain of Youth.

He sat in his car for a long time, contemplating about what he would do with both. He knew who deserved the last of the stuff. Perhaps it wasn't right to offer it to her, considering its risks, but she had to be given a choice. Either way, the world would continue to change, and so would they. What he had been for twenty-five years was what he would continue to be.

The Spy jolted as a lanky Australian leaned against his car. "Gonna sit in here all night?"

"No. Why? Did you have any plans, Bushman?" the Spy asked.

The Sniper shook his head, grinning. "Nah, mate. Just gonna spend some toime goin' through my van. Surprised the Administrator had 'em towed here for us. Gotta pay her out of our ears, I suppose. Still, glad ta have my home back."

"I could not agree more," the Spy nodded.

Both paused, letting the cool night seep into the garage. The Sniper gave a glance over his shoulder, looking at an empty workbench. The Engineer was still asleep in his loft upstairs. The two of them had quite a few rounds together since their return. Even now, the Sniper was drifting in and out of his thoughts with a pleased, drifting hum. The Spy could smell cheap alcohol on his breath. Apparently, he'd had a good night.

"I did have a place to go," the Spy finally spoke.

The Sniper bobbed his head. "The little lady's, roight?"

The Spy smiled. "Mais oui."

Giving the Spy's car a soft pat, the Sniper rose. "Roight, then. Better get to her. Never keep a lady waitin'."

Before he could turn, the Spy caught the Sniper's right wrist. He stood up, patting his teammate on his back as he gave him a strong squeeze. The Sniper responded in kind, albeit slowly. He was a little drunk and confused. Both men held each other for a moment, releasing only after it had gotten painful for both their backs. A flush of color was quick to flood the Sniper's face, alcohol kicking his bloodstream along quickly. The Spy kept cooler, a smirk at his lips.

"Zhank you," the Spy said.

The Sniper grinned. "Yer welcome. I think. Don't know what for."

The Spy rolled his eyes. He didn't know if modesty or intoxication had made the Sniper stupid. "I would have been lost without you, you dimwitted Bushman."

"Ah, please. Ya would have been just—wait. What did you call me?" The Sniper slurred his thoughts together. The Spy understood what he was saying all the same. Gratitude seeped through his smile. The Sniper returned a goofy smirk.

A soft cough came from the Spy's vehicle as he turned it on. The Sniper backed away, his expression sobering up. There was a bit of fear in him yet. The Spy could see it around his eyes. He could map where tired wrinkles used to be on his teammate's face. He could see them yet, knowing that deep down, the old men they left on Fraser Island were still clinging to each other in fright. It would be a while before each one could feel completely safe off the base again. Fear would not stop him from his midnight drive, however.

"Your countrymen have strong laws, correct? Zhen we will not worry about Miss Grey. Zhey will keep her under lock and key," the Spy spoke over his motor.

The Sniper gave a tired nod. "Roight. And if she shows up here, then she'll be on our turf. We've got help here. If there's anythin' we're good at, it's holdin' a line."

The Spy grinned. "Zhat's right, Bushman. Have a good night."

"You too, mate." The Sniper gave the Spy a quick wave.

His teammate turned to head inside his van. A devilish smirk creeped across the Spy's face. There was color on the back of the Sniper's neck. That couldn't have been from the alcohol. He leaned out of his car, calling towards the Australian. "Might I make a suggestion? Go get a handkerchief."

The Sniper's back went rigid. He clapped a hand over the bruise on his neck. Snapping on his heel, he yelled back to his teammate. "Go get yerself a reason for a handkerchief, ya bloody Spook!"

/***/

He arrived at her home like he always did. He came quietly in the middle of the night, balaclava on, form hidden by the dark cast of her roof's shadow. Tonight, he was perplexed by the mess at her back door. She had been, too. All of her items were in order, but her door was still broken. Apparently, George hadn't gotten around to fixing it. Then again, his house was dark and empty. The rat had run out of town. She could have been mad, but at that moment, she was more pleased by her guest than angered by her neighbor.

"I did not bring any roses wizh me. I hope you will forgive me," her gentleman spoke softly.

She smiled. "Didn't need any. Table's messed up, anyway. Think I have a chip in my good vase, too."

As he stepped into her home, the Spy shed his jacket. He gave a brief glance to the collapsed door. "I could call ze Engineer, if you would like it fixed tonight."

The Scout's mother grabbed the Spy's tie. She swung its tip in his nose. "It can wait. Ain't nobody gonna interrupt us tonight." Slinking closer, she wrapped her arms around his hips. He folded his around hers in turn. Both held their embrace, each savoring the scent of the other. Nothing perfumed, nothing fancy. Just clean. He rested his sharp nose in her well groomed hair. She could feel him smile through her scalp.

"Don't want ta ask a clichéd question, but I've gotta know," the Scout's mother murmured into his chest. "Is somethin' in your pocket, or—"

The Spy's eyebrows raised. "Oh. About zhat." He unhooked his arms from her side. He fished through his suit's vest, producing a small glass vial. It was a minty blue-green color in the moonlight. Something earthy percolated from its contents, sinking into her sinuses with a pleasing scent. "Before we left Brisbane, we made sure zhat ze police were to destroy zhat substance Marian found. Well, I should say, most of it. Zhis is all zhat is left."

The Scout's mother tipped her head. "Ya mean, da stuff dat turned back da clock on you?"

The Spy smirked. "Don't get attached to it. I'll be back to normal in ze morning."

"Good. Frankly, I was startin' ta look a little odd around you." She played with the knot on his tie, loosening it just a little. "So, I've gotta ask why you brought me dis. I've seen what it can do. Frankly, not too hot on it. I mean, da effect's nice, but I ain't a fan of what happens. You should have da way dat Dell was pukin' his guts out."

"I've seen it. Trust me. I would not give you zhis wizzout having taken precautions in case of zhose symptoms. But, as far as why I want you to have it…" The Spy's answer was slow to develop. He kept his mouth closed, trying to find the right way to say his thoughts. There was not an easy way for him to speak his thoughts. "Consider it compensation."

He was rewarded with a flick in his nose. "Ya dummy! Why'd ya think ya'd ever need ta repay me?"

"You do not need to risk your life on my behalf," the Spy replied.

She smirked again. "Ya really are a mental moron, ya know dat? Look, mon caniche. I came after you because I love you. I know ya get yer guts spilled every damn day, but dat doesn't mean I have ta like it! I'll only tolerate it 'cause ya get out in one piece at da end of a day. But, dis extra crap, with random bitches thinkin' dey can put deir mitts on you? I ain't havin' it! Yer mine, dammit! If any broad lays a hand on you, den I've gotta smack it back off!"

The Spy caught a gasp before it escaped his throat. "So. I am yours."

"Hell yeah, goddammit," the Scout's mother swore back. "We ain't always been a faithful pair, but…Shoot. You've always had an eye on me. You've watched over my boys. 'Specially my little Scout. Hell, da stuff you've smuggled to us just ta keep us afloat. Ain't never had any husband fight for my boys like you did."

"You can't mean zhat. Your second one tried," the Spy interjected.

"Yeah, well, you've been in my life longer dan he was. God rest his soul." She settled her arms around his neck. "Yer my guy. Ain't no magic potion nor ring nor nothin' dat needs ta say dat. I love you, and you love me, so yer gonna have ta suck it up."

The Spy whispered into her forehead. "Je t'aime, mon petit chou-fleur."

The duo stood in the kitchen, arms wrapped around each other. Moonlight flooded in through open windows and the broken door. Black and white tiles on the ground danced their way into wood-paneled and thick-carpeted rooms. Beyond them, a restroom. Past that, three bedrooms. A quaint little ranch house. There, in all the places in the world, the Spy and the Scout's mother finally found themselves at home. Nothing had to change. No masks were needed, nor perfume, flowers, nor any other trapping. In ruins, tragedy, and joy, it was perfect.

"'Course, ya know what I don't have?" the Scout's mother laughed.

The Spy lifted his head. "Oui?"

She gave him a coy grin, playing with the bottle in his hands. "I got a lot 'a things, but I don't have a daughter."

I'm so sad this is over.
Wonderful ending as well. I hope you are working toward another story somewhat soon? I'll miss constantly checking back for updates.

this is one of my favorite fics that i've ever read. i'm so sad to see it end, but i loved it every step of the way. the writing was great, the action was driving, the characterization was fantastic, and i really can't think of anything negative to say about it. i even loved the characters you made specifically for the story. they fit in spot-on with the tf2 universe and style and didn't detract from the focus of the story or the other characters at all.

i do hope you plan on writing more stories in the future! consider me a fan. i look forward to whatever projects you might come up with in the future!

Aww... I always feel kind of sad when a good story comes to an end. There's not nearly enough adventure or firefights in much of the TF2 fanfic out there, and this was a nice change from the usual.

I wonder if those new Respawn templates will ever see use in the future.

Anyways, good story, and good conclusion, too. I'm a little sad Engie didn't get more face time in the final chapter, but, eh. The story itself was Spy- and Sniper-centric, so not a big surprise.

I really enjoyed every last bit of this because it was different from the usual fic in this fandom, original characters and all, and I shall miss expecting updates. I do hope you continue to write, because I know I'll be reading.

I felt that the chase scene was a little hard to follow, but eh. Action is a pain in the ass to write, and I think you did a good job. I also really enjoyed all of the bromance in this story, especially between Spy and Sniper.