1. The First Chapter
Death is scary; women are terrifying. This was the approximation of the scout's thoughts when he came to, strapped in a chair and surrounded by the figures of eight very angry looking women.
He hadn't even done anything! The red team had finished their matches for the month with BLU, and their first week off in a while had just begun. Scout had only been going down the stairs to his bunk, when he'd heard a rustling sound coming from the adjoining hall.
" Oy, Pyro!" He'd called. The maniac had been picking through the rash a lot recently, sorting out the jars and plastic before setting the rest on fire. " If you leave whatever filth you dig up in there all over the bunks again it won't be me you'll answer to, but spy! And he's a lot less friendly about that than I am!"
The rustling sound halted, but instead of the muffled grunts of the Pyro, a calm female voice responded.
" Oh yeah, you sound real friendly." And the next thing scout saw was a Yankees themed aluminum bat swinging towards his head.
Now, there was a glaring light in his face, his skull throbbed and his shirt was covered in blood. The sharp, dagger like pain in his nose was probably the cause; he wanted to reach a hand up to check if it was broken. However, when he tried he felt his arms had been zip tied to the back of the chair he was strapped to.
" Where the hell am I?!" He demanded, writhing in the seat. The lamp in his face made it so he couldn't make out anything but the outlines of the people. They had female figures, except one standing in the back who he couldn't really tell. A voice other than the one of the person who'd knocked him out replied from behind him.
" We'lla be the onez asking youa tha questions." The accent was Italian, not New York Italian or some weird stereotype, but straight up Italian. It was definitely female, but that did nothing to obscure the menace behind her words.
" Wattdya mean asking me the questions? Listen broad, where am I, who are you, what the fu- AAAH!" He screamed as a gut wrenching pain split his left hand. The figure who had spoken slunk in front of him and deposited one of his fingers in his lap. The scout felt blood soak his back and his hand felt like it was being shoved in a hot stove. He screamed even louder, but the voice cut him off.
" Scream again, anda we cut off anozer." Scout winced, and did his best to swallow the absolute horror at having his finger on his legs. He was used to dying, during matches they'd just respawn and be sent out again, but he knew well enough he wouldn't be able to respawn outside of a match and pain… pain was worse than death in his opinion. The Italian woman spoke again.
" Medic, puta that ona sum ice, we'll reatatch it IF he coperates, comprendere?"
" What, medic you're with them? Is that you in the back- JESUS CHRIST!" The Italian had removed another finger. Scout struggled to keep from passing out.
" Careful spy, we want him conscious. " A smooth, chocolaty,female voice responded from the scout's right.
" Fine. Only becausa you are the doctor." Scout was confused. The Italian was referring to the woman on his right as the medic, but medic was a man, and this ' medic' had called the Italian woman spy, but this wasn't spy, and good lord his hand hurt… black spots were dancing in his vision.
" Now," The Italian continued. " Who are you, where are we, and why doa you resemble the scout so much?"
" I… I am the scout." He babbled half unconscious. How could he not resemble himself? The Italian laughed.
" If youa are the scout I am a frenchman. But that lie no matter how amusing will costa you another finger."
" Wait, no, NO! I'm not lying, check my insignia! I don't know what's going on but I am the scout I swear!" He practically sobbed the last lines. He felt a warm nothing creeping in the back of his mind and he just wanted it to envelop him. His throbbing nose and aching hand pushed him further in and soon he felt himself slipping away…
A bucket of cold water brought him back to reality. Shivering, wet and hurting, but he could vaguely feel someone had bandaged his hand. The woman who claimed to be the medic spoke this time.
" We rifled through your pockets while you were unconscious, found your wallet, I.D, assorted notes; it seems you're telling the truth. You're some kind of scout working for Redmond Mann. You're one of nine mercenaries, who from your various insulting doodles on photos of them all seem to be...male." The medic, or whatever, paused. " We're currently in a basement level underneath where our scout grabbed you." She switched off the light that was burning it's way into the scout's retinas. The room was quite large, and Scout still couldn't make out the women lurking in the back, however he could confirm they were definitely in a basement. " Once we go up those stairs, you'll lead us to a type of commons area in your base. There we will turn you over to your teammates, and ask for a more definite explanation since you appear to be fairly low down in the ranks."
Well, that's rude. Scout wasn't the most important teammate, but he certainly considered himself the best. He'd say something snarky if he wasn't worried about the psychopath Italian, slicey mccrazy pants, depriving him of more fingers. All he managed was to shiver and mumble.
" What about my fingers? I n-n-need those." His teeth chattered. That water had been like Ice. The female medic held up a baggie full of ice, and his fingers.
" If my suspicions are correct then you have a medic of your own to take care of things." While someone behind him undid the zip ties, scout was able to inspect his captors more closely.
The woman claiming to be the medic certainly looked the part. She wore a lab coat bearing the medical insignia, and a medi-gun was lying on a dusty table toward the back of the basement area. Unlike the real medic however ( because, she wasn't the real one, right?), this woman had no trace of German in her. Her black hair was pulled into a ponytail, but nonetheless flowed like oil down to nearly her waist; and her skin was a burnished looking brown. She seemed more like she belonged in Bombay more than Berlin.
" You don't have an accent?" He ventured.
" Yes, how observant and stereotypical of you to see that. I'm from pennsylvania douchebag. I'd love to see things from your point of view but I can't shove my head that far up my ass." Okay, not the right thing to say. The medic's face had contorted into a grimace, and she turned her back to him.
The zip ties were off, but before scout could bolt he felt petite hands wrench his arm into a pretzel-like configuration behind his back.
" Don'ta even think about running, ragazzo." The Italian hissed in his ear.
" Easy slicey, we've only just met." Scout fired back, and felt her tweak his arm a little tighter. Needless to say, he still ached like hell but nothing could deprive him of sarcasm once he knew the knives had been put away. The Italian yanked him to his feet.
" We go." She said. And soon scout found himself not so much leading, but being pushed in front of the solemn gathering of women up the stairs and into the base.
...
" Come on, just a lil' closah." The male sniper urged. He'd been relaxing with his teammates in the caf, working on fixing his saxaphone, when the Pyro had gotten into a tizzy and hacked apart one of the tables.
" What the bloody hell!" He'd yelled, when he noticed the Pyro pointing to one of the security cam monitors.
" My god." The soldier drawled. The scout was moseying through one of the hallways leading to the caf, covered in what seemed to be blood, and followed by a gaggle of eight heavily armed women.
Well, of course Engie and the spy started strategizing, but the sniper… He preferred to work solo. Now, he was lying on a row of lockers at the top of a main stairway, and had a full view of the hall they'd been following. His crosshairs matched at head level with whoever would walk through after scout. He sidled the butt of his rifle up to his shoulder. It's funny, one of the women had been carrying a medigun, another was enormous and somewhat resembled the heavy; in fact it seemed like there had been one for every class but there had been only eight of them...
" Y'all probably shouldn't do that." A soft texan voice urged from behind him.
" And there's numbah nine." He cursed to himself. He turned and saw a blonde woman in a cowboy hat manning a rifle further down the row. " Hello sweethart." He sighed.
" Whine all ya want, I still have a rifle pointed at your manhood. You make one move towar' that trigger an' you'll be pissin like a she-dog till the end of your days."
" You have make a reasonable argumant." He said, releasing his gun.
" Throw it on the ground." The woman stated.
" Wha'? But it's brand new-"
" THROW IT ON THE GROUND NOW!" She roared, before exhaling slowly, and taking several deep breaths. " Don't make the mistake of making me mad. Throw. Your. Gun. On. The. Ground."
" You're insane, you are." The sniper spat, but he pushed the rifle off the edge and heard it clatter to the floor.
" Smart descision." The texan urged. " Now you an' I are gonna stay right here till my friends figure out what's goin' on."
" Friends is a pretty loose term."
" How'd you know?"
" If they're anything like my 'friends', you'd all kill eachotha if ya weren't gettin' paid to kill the other guys."
" Smart." The woman replied. " But you'll find we're a bit less shallow than that. However now I can tell them that our hostage doesn't mean all that much to the rest of you."
" Wha', Scout? Kill 'im for all I care. He's an asshole." The sniper then gazed forlornly at his gun down on the ground.
He hoped nobody was planning on gaining a strategic advantage from above.