>>113 Demoman's got some grim bloody work ahead of him... I admit at this point, slapping warning labels on my story seems a little silly, but I guess for the sake of those few people who might find it disturbing, there is moderate torture in this chapter. Daddy's home. addendum: BAAAAAWWWWWWW I hate missing little syntax errors like that. Thanks, Millia. (cough) Fixed _____________________________________ Not long after the renegade Medic's visit to the wine-cellar, Sniper began to return from the foggy depths of sedation. He did little to make it immediately obvious, in part because he was feeling rotten, and in part because he was just too tired to raise a fuss. Nobody would have guessed it to look at him, but he was furious. As he listened to his cell mates mutter and fidget nearby, he brooded over the events that brought him here. Tex's stun-gun put him down fast, but the effects didn't last much longer than it took to tie him up. He should have played it safe, just closed his eyes and eavesdropped, while the rogue mercenaries dealt with him and his companions. But when more of the bastards showed up to carry them all away, and some black-haired boy began stomping poor Scout like a cockroach... (Christ. I shouldn't have pitched a fit, for all the good it did. Would have spared me the trouble of getting doped up twice in one day.) Sniper opened his eyes, and discovered the right one was swollen shut. Squinting through his other eye, he realized he was somewhere poorly-lit. In fact, the only light was coming from a few decoratively-paned window wells. The room's former contents had pervaded every surface with a sour smell, and decades’ worth of dust covered the cement floor, but the marksman was relieved that they weren't being held in some muddy pit. He squirmed, seeing how well he could move while tied. If there was a chance he might be able to reach the backs of his ankles and pick at their bonds, he’d take it. As he started to move, nausea surged up inside of him, and he lay still again. Scout must have seen his movement, because he heard the youth say, “Yo, I think Sniper's comin' around. Hey Sniper- y'hear me, man?†Another, more impassive voice said, “Good.†It was the BLU Spy, who seemed to be fidgeting incessantly where he sat. If there was anything else on the secret agent's mind, he didn't share it. Not that Sniper minded. He wasn't really in the mood for a discussion right now. “Urrgh. Y-yeah. Loud'n clear,†Sniper hissed, breathing shallowly. His guts were roiling, a trickle of bile stinging in his throat. The room's musty stench was doing nothing to help. Doing his best to think rationally, he whispered, “What'd I miss?†Scout answered, which was no surprise. “Their medic came by and gloated for a while. He was like a mad scientist super villain or some shit. He said that after his boss comes by to check us out, he's gonna use us for horrible experiments.†As Scout spoke, Sniper studied the boy's injuries with growing anger. Although it was hard to tell if he had suffered any broken bones, his extensive bruising was easily apparent. A mess of blood had crusted across his upper lip- the aftermath of a newly broken nose, most likely. He grimaced, thinking, (When I get free, I'm going to choke the life out of the bastard who did that to you, Scout.) “You okay, man?†Scout must have noticed the look on his face. “Just fabulous.†Sniper paused for a moment, a sudden spasm in his belly threatening to force out what little it contained. When the feeling waned, he continued. “I reckon you know this already, but you're looking pretty terrible, mate. Saw some kid kicking the shit out of you, back in the conservatory.†“Ugh. I'm gonna kill that motherfucker.†Scout tensed up with impotent anger and gave the Australian a resentful look. “Why the fuck didn't you stop him, you stupid shithead?†“Same reason I'm lying 'ere right now. I was tied up. Tried shoutin' at them, for what that's worth.†As the moments passed, his feeling of sickness seemed to be growing, curdling into a painful lump in his stomach. Dismally acknowledging this dilemma, Sniper mustered all his strength and inch-wormed to the other end of the wine cellar, as far from the others as he could get. He could hear Scout talking some more, but the sound of his pulse thundering in his ears was making it hard to understand. The ground felt like it was rocking beneath him, just as he felt when he was drugged earlier, but without the euphoria. It was more like seasickness this time. (Oh God, whatever sedative they used is not agreeing with me. This is all that bloody Spy's fault. Bloody drugs playing hob with my system...) Unable to contain his nausea any longer, Sniper leaned his forehead against the wall. His stomach gave a sickening lurch, and up came his lunch of stolen hardtack. “Awwww fuck, I didn't wanna see that,†Scout griped. “Were you eatin' bugs to survive before I found you? Maybe you better stay over there, this room stinks bad enough as it is.†Sniper glowered and tried to make a retort, but he could only choke out epithets between bouts of noisy heaving. Spy, on the other hand, gave a hissing chuckle and said, “You t'ink dis is bad? Imagine if he'd eaten dose ham and lima bean rations you were bitching about.†Scout groaned, “Sick! Aw geeze, that or them beans and wieners. Those one are even worse.†Sniper's eyes watered, and he retched loudly at the mention of canned ham. In the midst of tearing up his insides, he heard someone unlocking the door. Spy gasped and went stock-still while the boy snarled. “You just try takin' me away, ya sick bastard. Fuckin' crazy-bastard doctor, hate doctors so m—†Scout's grumbling was interrupted by a sharp, barking yell from the outside the room. “A word to any of you maggots lying around by the door: GET BACK! If I find anyone in arm's reach when I come in there, I WILL BREAK YOUR FUCKING NECKS!†Sniper knew it could only be the Soldier in charge of the renegade group, the one that BLU Spy had warned him about earlier. The other two prisoners backed off from the cellar door, while Sniper shuffled away from the mess and lay down on his side, facing the rest of the room as he struggled to catch his breath. The door burst open at the urging of someone's boot-toe, and a stocky man in a RED Soldier's uniform appeared before the group. He looked like he'd just been through hell, stinking of blood, mud, and gunpowder. The filth of the jungle was streaked liberally over himself and his clothing. Close behind him was the doctor named Ruprecht, who seemed to be in the middle of healing the Soldier’s many wounds. Sniper wasn't sure the guy needed it. One look at his posture, his painted face and wild-eyed expression, and the marksman felt certain he could keep going as long as he weren't dismembered. A small insignia of a gold eagle glinted from the rogue leader's breast pocket. He was studying the prisoners. Even Scout seemed cowed enough by his appearance to keep quiet. After a few long, uncomfortable moments, he spoke. “Well, now. You really are a sorry-looking bunch of fuckups, aren't you? And yet you managed to infiltrate MY compound, and kill one of MY men. If Tex hadn't overheard you in his shop, you might have escaped without a scratch.†The Colonel closed his eyes and chuckled, as he began pacing back and forth before the prisoners. Sniper's gaze was strangely attracted to the man's face. He stared at him raptly, feeling intense suspicion and a little fear. In a voice that was still rough and choked from vomiting, he asked, “What the hell do you want? You know it'd be impossible to hold any of us for ransom.†“Maybe not, maybe so. Tex was telling me about a little something called a 'Faraday cage' that'd keep the respawn system from picking you up.†As the Colonel paused a moment to let this idea sink in, Spy gave an incredulous snort. Scout, on the other hand, went pale, and Sniper for his part felt a nagging sense of recognition. (Engineer told me about that once,) the marksman thought, frowning. (He might not be bluffing.) Their captor continued. “That's neither here nor there, though. We’ve been too busy rigging this place to try building one. Yet. In the meantime, Ruprecht wants to carve up the lot of you for practice, so it's not too likely you'll be sticking around much longer. But before I hand you over to him, you're my property.†From his place on the floor, Sniper could see the man's teeth gleaming in the dim light. He tried not to cringe. The Colonel had the same eager appetite for selecting his first victim as a man picking his lobster for dinner. The renegade Soldier's grin suddenly faded into a humourless, almost melancholic expression. Before anyone could really ask what was in store for them, he lunged for Spy and grabbed him around the throat. He lifted the Québécois one-handed and slammed him back against the wall. Spy went wide-eyed with alarm, then his face twisted into a rictus of agony as the burlier man started jack-hammering his exposed chest and underbelly. “I don't expect you to shed any tears for a member of the BLU company,†the Colonel said, without a pause from his rib-cracking assault. Spy choked and gurgled helplessly, unable to defend himself, let alone strike back. “This is just a demonstration for you two. Start talking, or the kid's next.†Rage flared up in Sniper's chest. He spat, then snarled, “Talking about what?! They didn't tell us a bloody thing about this island! They didn't even have the common fucking courtesy to let us know we weren't the first ones they'd ever sent here!†As he spoke, Spy's attacker seemed to acknowledge his words. However, he didn't let up with the punching. Sniper grimaced and decided to elaborate. “Our intel only mentioned the BLU company was moving into the area. That's all. Really. We weren't told a bloody thing about what happened here before, or you lot, or any of that.†The Colonel grunted and took a moment's break, apparently to give his fist some reprieve more than anything else. Ruprecht was hovering white-faced in the doorway with his Medi-gun, watching the violence anxiously. He exclaimed, “Ach je, do not kill him! I need zis man for my work!†“Alright,†the man in charge rumbled, without any real emotion. He dropped Spy's limp form in the fresh pool of blood on the floor, then cracked his knuckles. As Ruprecht clawed the BLU mercenary back from the brink of death, the Colonel turned to his other prisoners. Scout had curled into a terrified ball, but Sniper was doing his best to keep a stiff upper lip. He felt his stomach sink as their captor started towards him. “You've got an interesting story there, Chatty Cathy, but it doesn't explain why you and your pals headed straight for Tex's machine shop. What were you doing in there, I wonder?†That gravelly voice was somehow more threatening at an indoor volume. Sniper looked up, seeing darkness creeping at the borders of his vision. “We saw most of your men in the kitchen. Didn't wanna risk jumping them if there was a chance they'd fight back. The Spy said he'd seen you an' the little bloke out smoking by the conservatory, so we figured it could be his workshop. Thought we'd find him alone there. It was empty.†He swallowed, then added, “Don't pick me up, mate, I'm sick as a dog. I'll chunder all over ya.†The Colonel looked unimpressed by Sniper's version of events, and growled pensively. “So it's just a coincidence they found you all poking around by the sealed door? You know, the only thing on this shitty island that sane people would be the least bit interested in? People like that scheming broad and her pet body-builder? I don’t believe YOU for a SECOND, you SCRAWNY, LYING little FUCK!†Sniper had sensed this was coming before it happened. By the time the Colonel landed his first kick, the Australian had curled up into a defensive posture. His shins and outer ribcage exploded in pain with each blow, but it was better than taking a boot to the solar plexus. The cold sweat prickling over his body was worse. This was starting to feel like a bad flashback to his run-in with those Indonesian marines. He sank his teeth into his collar and tore the fabric, doing everything he could not to cry out. Someone was screaming, and it took Sniper a moment to realize it wasn't him. A couple feet away, Scout was thrashing on the floor and making an awful lot of noise. “STOP! STOP IT! For Christ's sake, leave him the fuck alone! WE DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!†Through his barely-open eyelids, Sniper could see his teammate, red-faced and hysterical. The sight sparked a sharp pang in his chest, somehow more painful than his aching ribs. Although it was impossible their captor felt the same, he did relent, giving a drawn out and weary sigh. “Well, nuts. ...they're all yours, Ruprecht. They don't know anything. Keep your mouth shut around them, while you're at it. I'm sure when they end up back in the company's hands, they're gonna get grilled for everything they've learned out here.†Without another word to his prisoners, the Colonel turned and walked around the bodies on the floor, then disappeared out the door. The fresh bruises on Sniper's body gave off a zesty ringing sort of pain, which distracted from the panic that had tried to overtake him. As he slowly uncurled, a weak little burp rose from his throat, along with a sour taste of bile. “Oh God,†he panted, sinking down on the floor. “Oh God. Eurggh, fuck. Just…†Ruprecht was packing away his Medi-gun, and humming cheerfully. Beside him, the typically unflappable Canadian was sitting with his forehead against his knees, breathing shakily. Scout had gone full-on fetal curl, and was hiccupping between gasps and muffled sobs. “Vell, zhat vasn't too terribly unpleasant, yes? You're all still vith me, zhat is good. I vill need to make preparations before ze first procedure can begin, so you vill all haff a chance to settle down. In case any of you have ideas of ending your lives to escape zis place, zhen I vill haff mein comrade Kelly persuade you to stay longer.†The German smiled as he rose to his feet, then patted the top of Spy's head. With no insults or challenges forthcoming, he left the room, locking the door behind him. When the sound of footsteps outside had faded, the REDs swapped bleary glances. Scout's eyes lingered on Sniper, and in a low voice he asked, “...you okay?†Sniper was still catching his breath. He ached all over, but none of the blows he had taken did anything worse than bruise. Whether it was mercy, oversight, or the fact that Spy helped the Colonel vent most of his frustrations, Sniper's head was spared any serious trauma. “Yeah, he didn't break anything. I've 'ad worse,†he said, feeling a grim resolve to turn the situation around. “How 'bout you, Scout?†The youth nodded, looking a little reassured. In the process of his hysterics, Scout had started a fresh trickle of blood from his busted nose, along with the snot and tears. He spat, then said, “...yeah. Hey, uh... I don't wanna spoil this party, but we are in really deep shit. I mean, fuck. Up to our waists. An’ I got no good plans to get us out. What about you guys?†Spy was slower to emerge from his state of distress than the other prisoners. When he finally lifted his head, it was apparent that the Medi-gun had healed most of his injuries. However, it left his emotional trauma intact. He was soaked in blood from the nose down, and his expression would have seemed more natural on a kicked dog. After several moments of struggling to find his voice, he muttered, “I'm working on it. Need a little more time.†The masked man then resumed the peculiar sort of fidgeting he'd been engaged in since Sniper first came around. Now that he was feeling less groggy, the sharpshooter could focus more on his surroundings. He realized Spy's wriggling was limited to his arms. Occasionally a faint tearing of material could be heard, just barely audible. He had been working behind his back the whole time, patiently whittling away at his bonds. Trying to ignore the stiff soreness of his body, Sniper crawled to join his companions, mostly so he could be near Scout. He found himself struck by the desire to comfort the kid or put a hand on his shoulder, but the duct tape made it impossible. (I must be turning into a bloody sap,) Sniper thought, although he couldn't deny there was something particularly anxious about Scout's demeanor. The marksman had never seen him like this before, not even before one of Medic's inoculations. “'ere, we'll get out of this one way or another. Just hang in there. We're in this together.†Scout looked at Sniper with red-rimmed, frightened eyes, and hesitated for a moment before squirming closer to the bushman. “He's comin' for me first,†the boy said quietly. “He's comin' for me. I dunno what he's gonna do to me. I've been thinkin' about it forever in here and I dunno what it is but I don't wanna go with him. I don't want him takin' me away and doin' whatever fuckin' horrible thing he's gonna do. I dunno what he's gonna do but I don't wanna...†Scout didn't raise his voice as he spoke, but became choked with anxiety, gasping as he rambled about his fears. Sniper cut him off, or did his best to. “Scout. Scout! Listen to me.†After a few moments, Scout finally gave in to the older man's request. Sniper sighed, and did his best to look like someone who's got his wits together. “We are going to get out of here,†he said in a voice that was firm but not loud, emphasizing the words. “I ain't just trying to calm you down or something. I'm making a bloody promise. Are you with me, Scout? Think you can hold yourself together?†The youth lowered his eyes and sagged against the floor, sighing shakily. “Yeah. Yeah, I- I think I can do that. ...Thanks, man.†Scout wasn't exactly relaxed, but he seemed to have overcome his panic. It was a relief to Sniper, even if for reasons more sympathetic than he would have liked. In that cold cellar, bodies trembling with fever and nerves, the only hope and warmth that the men had was each other’s words and the breath that carried them.