Hehe, thanks! It might sound goopy, but knowing there are people out there who are enjoying this stuff is one of the things motivating me to press onwards. (That and, among things, bloody-minded stubbornness). Have an update! This one first touches on Spy, then it's back to the gang on the island... ________________________________ Fifteen minutes after touchdown, RED Spy had navigated customs like a swift specter and was riding what passed as public transit in the lesser Antilles. It was a shabby van, worse than his Sniper’s own vehicle, but it would have to do. Even he would admit that the narrow mountain roads and colonial-era settlements of the Caribbean nation made limousines and buses a tricky prospect. On reaching the hotel that served as his team's mission control, he paid off the driver in American currency, then hurried to the back lot where the helicopters were. He was startled to see a large vehicle in the lot, refueling alongside a single RED Team Huey. The newcomer was a sleek aircraft, painted in dark purple and accented with white racing stripes. Twin jet engines in free-moving nacelles powered the beast. Spy was no mechanical genius, but he assumed they could be tilted for vertical or horizontal thrust, which would explain how the plane had wound up in a secluded parking lot. Just studying it sent an uncomfortable twinge down his spine. (My God, it can't be...) During the trip, Spy had entertained thoughts of checking the penthouse where the others might have left information on their plans. This discovery threw everything out the window, though. Moving as fast as he could without running, he crossed the lot to where the vehicles were and began looking for someone with answers. Deep down, there was really only one person who fit that description. Swallowing his pride and his natural fear of dismemberment, he strode right past the jet's ground crew and up its aluminum gangway, then tested the door. (Damn, it's locked.) Ignoring the men below who were beginning to give him suspicious looks, Spy sighed and resorted to knocking. At length, the door was answered by a dark-haired woman and her handgun. She looked surprised to see him. Feeling reluctant to take another bullet, Spy sought to disarm her with his usual charm. "Ah, Miss Pauling! It is wonderful to see you on zis fine evening, ma cherie. Whatever brings you 'ere? ...and your boss, I presume?" Miss Pauling turned a little pink and managed sort of a smile. She lowered the gun, but didn't holster it just yet. "Oh, I- well, it- it's Mann Company business. Mister Hale is busy in Canada right now, taking part in the Annual Toronto Polar Bear Hunt, so the Administrator came as a representative of the company..." From somewhere out of view, Spy heard a sharp and disapproving sound of throat-clearing. "Miss Pauling, don't tell the man anything he doesn't need to know. Spy, I would order you shot for this intrusion if I weren't too busy to have my aircraft cleaned." A long moment passed where he and the younger woman stood in place, unmoving. As a matter of fact, Spy was certain Miss Pauling wasn't breathing, either. At length, the Administrator gave a disgusted sigh that was audible from the doorway. "Considering the changes that have taken place in the field, I suppose he ought to receive a copy of the mercenaries' revised orders. Miss Pauling, give him the file." "Please wait here a moment, sir." Miss Pauling turned her attention to Spy for a second, just long enough to give him a pleading look. He knew that one. That was her "please don't make me shoot you" look. Then she disappeared into the airplane. Although he was severely tempted to cloak himself and sneak inside, Spy knew he'd never get away with it. At least the Administrator ran a tight ship. Spy only waited a few seconds before Miss Pauling returned with a manila folder, and handed it over. "Thank you ever so much, mademoiselle," he purred. "Do give my regards to our lovely and gracious Administrator." She smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the Administrator. "You're not being paid to insult my intelligence with meaningless words, Spy. You have your new orders. Miss Pauling, close the cabin door." Spy took a step back, and saved the end of his nose from being smashed by the door. Concealing his weariness, he adopted a confident posture and made his way from the jet, waiting until he was well away from the fuel lines before lighting a fresh cigarette. With his nicotine levels returning to normal, he turned to his next important task. In the shelter of the machine shop's doorway, Spy began to read his new orders. When he opened the folder, his first impulse was to return to the jet and start looking for the means to sneak on board. His mouth drew itself into a thin, frustrated line, and he cursed under his breath. The message read: TF INDUSTRIES EXECUTIVE ORDER - LEVEL A AS OF 2200 HOURS A.S.T., ALL RED AND BLU UNITS IN THE CARIBBEAN ARE ORDERED TO CEASE FIRE AND HOLD POSITION UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE FROM THE ADMINISTRATOR'S OFFICE. RED AND BLU HELICOPTERS WILL REMAIN GROUNDED AT THIS TIME. THESE ORDERS WILL BE RELAYED TO ALL FORCES A.S.A.P. ANY MERCENARIES ENGAGING IN HOSTILITIES WITH ONE ANOTHER IN KNOWLEDGABLE VIOLATION OF THIS DIRECTIVE WILL BE SUBJECT TO EXTREME DISCIPLINARY MEASURES, UP TO AND INCLUDING TERMINATION. DISMISSAL OF CONTRACT MAY ALSO BE CONSIDERED. "Shit!" Spy hissed, re-reading the words a few times for good measure. They were enlightening, at least. More so in regards to what he could glean from them, than what was openly said. (There's only one reason I can think of that we would be ordered to stop fighting each other: she must be preparing to move in. Could the men who turned traitor be dead now? I would assume as much, given this turn of events. Anyone who wound up in respawn won't be getting back there soon... I wonder if my teammates were able to claim the prize, or if the BLUs managed to make a comeback?) Over by the Administrator's jet, Spy could see the ground crew milling about. Schemes for infiltrating the craft whirled like dead leaves in his mind, but he dismissed them as overly risky. He was confident that lives didn't depend on him, even though remaining at mission control made him angrier than he would have liked.(There is simply no way I can go there now. No way that wouldn't get me fired, or worse.) The thought of staggering to his hotel room and catching up on sleep was attractive to Spy, but even in his current state of exhaustion, he knew he wouldn't find rest. There were too many unanswered questions on his mind. He decided instead to risk the cantina, then see what information he might find in the team's penthouse suite. Between the teletype and the phone, he could find out how many of his teammates were still in the field, and what the chances were that they had secured the Administrator's property. Whatever the hell that was. _______________________________ Standing in the conservatory's open doorway, Scout was feeling unnerved. A night breeze rushed past him into the glass enclosure, needed by the men inside its walls to cool the choking atmosphere. Sweat was creeping down his whole body. As he peered into the darkness beyond the reach of those sweltering lamps, it was hard to suppress his fear of the unknown. He knew there were eyes on him. Sniper was diligently watching, given that the man had refused to let Scout leave his sight. The shadows of the manor's overgrown garden seemed to stare as well, filling Scout with more self-conscious dread than he would have felt if a whole crowd of snipers was examining his every move. The Australian's hoarse drawl erupted from somewhere behind him, breaking his concentration. "For Christ's sake, would you hurry up and get back here?" Scout grimaced. This was no place to be taking a leak. Glancing back over his shoulder, he exclaimed, "Sh-shut up! I know you're happy pissin' all over the place, but normal people need a little peace an' quiet for this! It ain't like we've got somewhere else ta be." Doing his best to ignore the sensation that a thousand cameras were aimed at him, he waited for a lull in the wind. It was awkward enough to stand in plain sight, with a gun in one hand and his dick in the other. The last thing he wanted right now was to piss all over his shoes because of a badly timed breeze. (I could get stabbed in the back over here,) he thought dismally. Could the BLU Spy be right behind him at this very moment? Would Sniper be able to pick the guy off if he suddenly decloaked? Scout realized his teammate would have to be pointing a gun at his back for that. None of these thoughts made it any easier to do what he came for. Knowing that he had no other way to do this, Scout tried to clear his mind of all but the most encouraging images. (Come on, I've gotta get this over with. Think, stupid! Rain spouts, rivers, waterfalls, fuckin' fire hoses...) As his mind shifted to neutral gear, Scout could finally get down to business. He was finished and doing up his fly when he heard sounds coming from the thick foliage that surrounded on him on every side. His blood ran cold. Before he even had time to start analyzing what he'd heard, the youth gave a whoop of panic and scrambled back into the conservatory, ducking down beside the open door with his gun ready. On the other side of the room, Sniper had reacted instantly. He was crouched down now, rifle in hand, squinting at the darkness outside. "What is it? Who's there?" he hissed. "I- I dunno, I heard somethin'! There's people out there, or—or—" Scout suddenly felt uncertain. Were there other large animals on the island? He should have asked beforehand. More noises came from outside, rustling foliage and the scuffing of shoes. Muttered conversation came to his ears; the words were unclear, but they sounded tense, even aggressive. "I can hear 'em comin' through the bushes." Throughout all this, Tex worked on at the mainframe's console, ignoring the heat and danger around him. With machines running in either direction, maybe it was just too noisy over there for him to hear anything else. Either that, or the man was thoroughly entranced with his work. Sniper growled, creeping over to join his teammate. He crouched alongside a table, his sharp eyes flickering back and forth in search of the approaching group. Then, to Scout's surprise, he shouted at the intruders. "Who's there?! I know you're headed this way. Ya'd best speak up before I start shooting!" A beam of light pierced the foliage, streaking across Sniper's face. Someone answered from the shadows. "Sniper?! Izzat you, stretch?" It was the RED team's Engineer, of all people. Scout and Sniper stared in the direction his voice had come from, eyes wide with shock. In his typical eloquent style, the youth blurted out, "Holy shit! Get in here, man!" Scout saw two shapes move past the window. There were quiet sounds of scuffling and an angry grunt, then someone he'd hoped to never see again came staggering through the door, propelled by a boot to the backside. Rising from the floor, he groaned angrily. "Aww, fuck. What the hell are you doing here, Andy?" Andy glowered and opened his mouth, but was menaced by Engineer's free hand and clammed up. Sniper moved up between them. His heart gave a painful contraction, then he wrapped his long arms around the Texan, squeezing him tightly. It was surprising to see such a display of emotion from the sharpshooter. The only sober person Scout had ever seen greet a teammate that way was Heavy. Engineer had a shotgun in his creepy robot hand hand, but he reached up and patted Sniper's back with the real one, murmuring to his friend in a tone of relief. When they parted from their embrace, the taller man was bit teary-eyed. Feeling weirdly embarrassed, Scout looked away from the scene. (He must have been freaked out, too. Maybe he was just holding it inside until now. It’s probably normal to crack a little, when you've been through so much in one day.) As his eyes began stinging, Scout winced and tried to think of manlier things. Engineer gave a strange laugh. "How long've ya folks been standin' around in this furnace? Ya smell pretty terrible, if you don't mind me sayin'.†He paused, staring at Sniper’s thin lips. There was a long moment where the two men gazed at one another, seemingly on the verge of doing or saying something, yet holding back. Then Engineer broke the spell with a regretful sound, shaking his head as if it were a struggle to keep it in the present. “Ya look parched. Here, have some water... Where'd Spy creep off to?" Scout looked back to see Sniper drinking from a metal flask. When he was finished, he pushed it into the boy's hands and panted breathlessly. Realizing how close he was to suffering heat exhaustion, Scout drank deeply as well, and let his travelling companion do the talking. Even the canteen was cool to the touch, and the water inside was wonderfully cold. Sniper wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "You're a lifesaver, mate. Ah God, I needed that... I'm not sure where to begin with everything that's happened. It's a long story. Spy's been gone since the morning. He got himself mangled saving my skin." He was quiet, his expression troubled. Questions came faster to him than answers though, and he perked up after a moment. "But what about you and the others? Were the rest of the choppers able ta make it safely? And how'd ya get here, did that loudmouthed runt lead you to us?" "I reckon that's too long a story for me ta sum it up in a few words, too," Engineer sighed. His eyes were suddenly on Scout, cool and stern. "You should’ve given Medic and Heavy a little more warning before you ran off, boy. They were in dire straits when we found 'em." It would have been easier to make a rude retort if someone was yelling at him, but Scout had a hard time finding words to justify his actions. Before he had a chance to put his foot in his mouth, Andy cut in. "Hey, did that BLU motherfucker get himself bumped off?" Engineer raised a hand to silence the older boy, then stopped dead. "Wait, who? I thought we killed all of them." "Dere's a reason I'm laying low," grunted an irate voice that seemed to come out of nowhere. He was probably hunkered down behind cover, where even the faint mirage of his cloaked body would be hidden. On hearing him, Sniper frowned at the mostly empty space. Engineer bristled with anger and confusion. "What're ya doin' here, ya son of a bitch?" "I don't think he'd be foolhardy enough to try jumping us now. Scout's got his gun, and he's outnumbered." The Australian eyed the room warily for a moment, then groaned and rubbed his forehead. "We were, uh, sort of cooperating." "What?!" Engineer was aghast at the news. There was marked frustration in his tone. Scout didn't see him show his mean streak very often, and it was a little worrisome. Sniper was eager to smooth things out. He hastened to explain himself. "It's not like I was keen on the idea, but we... Ya must've run into some of the other men here, right? He had us at gunpoint, and... here, I'll take it from the top." "I'm listenin'," the mechanic growled, preserving his furious expression for the time being.