Short-ish update. There was a vignette taking place elsewhere I was going to put in before this, but it's not finished to my satisfaction yet. _________________________________ As his higher mental functions caught up with the rest of him, Sniper screeched to a halt before he could blunder right into the open. He stumbled from his inertia, then crouched in the shadows at the end of the hallway, taking in the operating room with his hawkish eyes. (Is this a bloody torture chamber?!) he thought, boggling at the architecture. In contrast with the rest of the manor, the underground gallery had an anachronistic medieval appearance. Sniper couldn't help but think of the pulp magazine horror stories he read sometimes. An honest-to-god mad doctor's dungeon lab wasn't the weirdest place he had ever been, but it was definitely noteworthy. Reflecting on the situation, he felt a rueful smirk tugging at his mouth. (I wish I'd had time to finish that cigarette.) A hand clamped down on his shoulder and gave him a rough shake. BLU Spy had caught up with him. Sniper caught a glimpse of the masked man's form, squatting down on the floor behind him. “You goddamn idiot... Don’t you even have a plan yet?†he hissed, venting smoke into the Australian's ear. Sniper growled in a tense, sotto voice. “I've got to take a look at the room first, wanker. See how many are in there.†There was furniture blocking his view in several places, but he only took a moment to locate its occupants. Amidst the jumble of medical devices and shelves, there was a gurney and a table that stood just a few feet apart, with what looked like a dispenser between them. Strapped down on the respective flat surfaces were two terrified young men. One of them, the rogue team's Scout, was cowering under Ruprecht's shadow, while Sniper's own teammate writhed against his bonds. (Scout... Fuck, I've got to get you out of here.) The sight was horrible for Sniper, but also a relief. Scout was clearly mad with fear and punctuated his struggles with bouts of insane shrieking. He hadn't been injured, though. To be honest, he seemed to be revitalized by the dispenser's red plume. (Is that really a dispenser? It's healing them, but it looks like it's missing some parts... Well, that sort of makes sense. I reckon they wouldn't need it pumping out ammunition down here.) The enemy medic wasn't paying attention to Scout. He seemed to be busy with the other youth, to whom he was speaking in an irritated tone. “I can assure you zat you vill feel no pain, dummkopf! Ze local anesthesia vill keep your arm quite numb as I perform ze transplant, but I must re-open your wound before I can proceed!†Andy’s face went green. “Urrgh, I... fuck, alright! Just do it! B-but you gotta blindfold me first or somethin', I can't watch this. I barfed my guts out just tyin' it off this morning...†Sniper clutched a hand over his face and recoiled, grimacing in disgust. Not even his hair-brained Medic was this insane. “This's bloody madness,†he murmured, and turned his attention to the other shelves, tables, and cabinets that were standing about the gallery. Between the noise of the dispenser and the room's clutter, Sniper was beginning to think that sneaking up on Ruprecht was the best and most sensible option they had. Seeing as the dark-haired punk was tied down, he probably wouldn't give them any trouble. (Maybe we can put the thumbscrews to him, find out where they put our equipment... after I've rescued Scout. He’s first.) Spy's voice came to him, quiet and deadpan. “Good t'ing he's busy wit' your guy. Dat amputee probably won't put up much of a fight since he's immobilized. I take it you're gonna sneak up on dem, eh?†“Bloody right I am. Ah, I think I see your gun. That kid must've put it down on the trolley with the doctor's surgical implements. Shame that's right in the middle of everything, I reckon I'll just hafta do yer job.†He didn't bother looking back to see the BLU agent's reaction to any of his words. Regardless of the other man's intentions, Sniper was determined to help one of his own. If Spy had any advice on stealthily murdering people, he didn't offer it. Not that Sniper was too concerned. Without a cloaking device, the only advantage the Québécois had over him in that department was a slighter frame. As he started to scope out the best route there, he realized that he had one distinct handicap which might complicate things for him. Back in the conservatory, he was only a little sore from his night in the machine shop. Now, Sniper's mobility would be hampered by several more hours spent on a cold, hard floor, and the bruises he'd acquired during their questioning. A little moan of despair crept up from his throat. (Jesus Christ, this would only be worse if I was a bloody ninety-year-old. Once I off that bastard, I'm going to have to spend a while with his dispenser over there.) The hum of machinery was just enough to cover Sniper's footfalls, as he emerged from hiding and crept closer to the bedlam unfolding in the middle of the room. Between the renegade's tense conversation and Scout's intermittent screaming fits, Ruprecht seemed preoccupied. Nonetheless, the sharpshooter didn't want to be discovered until after he'd stuck a knife through the doctor's spleen. Doing his best to ignore the sharp flashes of pain that were going off like firecrackers all over his body, Sniper wound his way beneath a table, then clambered over the filthy floor and made his way behind a low chest of drawers. For the first time since the helicopter crash, he was happy to be without his hat. The last thing he needed right now was to be spotted because of it. “Are you cuttin' on me yet, man?†From somewhere between himself and Scout, Sniper could hear Andy's voice from atop the wheeled gurney. He peered out from behind his cover and damn near died. Ruprecht was facing in his direction, sorting through a jumble of unsanitary-looking tools. The rogue medic didn't notice he was being observed from a mere couple of feet away. He finally selected a saw that must have been to his liking, then turned back to Andy without spotting the eyes upon him. The Australian ducked back behind the cabinet and clutched at his racing heart with his empty left hand. Kelly's knife was in the right one, of course. Crawling wasn't any easier with a weapon occupying his grasp, but Sniper had gripped it in reverse so the blade was more or less flush with his arm, instead of threatening to knock against everything he passed by. In his mad rush to rescue Scout, he'd neglected to wipe the blood off it. Mind you, having a sanitary weapon wasn't high on his list of concerns. Glancing back towards the hallway from which he had come, he saw that Spy was still lingering there, watching his efforts with the gaze of a critic. (Bloody useless spies! You're all the same, aren't you... is that cigarette really more important than this?) He narrowed his eyes and took another peek at his target. Ruprecht was now leaning over Andy with saw in hand, preparing to carve the end off the boy's truncated arm. A wave of revulsion crept down Sniper's back, igniting his sense of urgency. He wriggled out between the chest and a short wire rack that was laden with dirty objects, turning the kukri's business end towards Ruprecht. Just as he was on the verge of clearing these obstacles, his left foot collided with one of the metal stand's rickety legs. The whole filthy mess went clattering to the ground. Everyone else reacted immediately. Scout's shrieking died off into a weak, confused note as he saw who was there. The enemy medic wheeled about with an expression of shock on his face. It turned to anger a second later, and he advanced towards Sniper, raising his bonesaw. Andy had been cringing and still, keeping his eyes squeezed shut, but he forgot his fear and opened them. “What the fuck?! How the fuck did he get in here?!†Sniper didn't wait for Ruprecht to close the distance between them. His instincts took over at once; he grabbed the rack in his free hand, then hurled it at the doctor's face. The projectile bounced off its target and collided with an antique refrigerator, rocking the unit precariously. While Ruprecht staggered from the blow, Sniper rose to his feet and lunged at the enemy, taking a vicious swing with his weapon. He slashed through the doctor's coat, but didn't accomplish much more than angering his prey. Ruprecht swore as a vivid stain blossomed across his chest and retaliated savagely. His saw narrowly missed the Australian's throat, tearing into the left half of his collarbone instead and drawing a ragged howl of pain. Knowing that he was already too weak to take much more, Sniper desperately thrust the large blade into his attacker's gut. That prompted Ruprecht to begin sawing into his shoulder. The two scouts were both screaming and trying to break free, but the cacophony was weirdly muffled to him, as though he had cotton batting in his ears. The world began to darken, even the crazed face of the mad doctor just inches away from his own. (Oh God, I'm dying...) Trying to think through the haze was a struggle for Sniper. His pulse was pounding out an agonizing rhythm in his head, and tinnitus drowned out every other sound in the room. His field of vision had become distressingly narrow, barely a pinhole in a black nylon mask. All of his strength was behind the weapon in his hand now. He couldn't tell if it was doing any good. (Scout... Christ, mate, I'm sorry. Hope you can forgive me after he's done with you...) Sniper toppled forwards onto the floor, watching as his stolen kukri went spinning away in slow motion. Distant sounds of conversation crept into his ears, and the shadows of people skirted his dim gaze. Sniper didn't know if he was hearing gunshots or footsteps, but as someone grabbed him below the arms and dragged him into the dispenser's soothing stream of healing rays, he realized with mixed horror and relief that he wasn't leaving the island just yet.