A/N: This chapter was beta-ed and edited by The95will. They're such an awesome beta reader!
~Chapter One~
The Engineer was no stranger to the Respawn machine to acting up time to time. Malfunctions would cause his contraption to revive members of the RED team varying from ending up in the a Chuck E' Cheese to some Zoo in an Australian city.
Just tiny slip-ups, that don't wreck the RED team's daily routine when it comes to the heat of combat.
Hell, there was one time that Heavy was teleported to a restaurant and brought back a several bags of takeout food when he made his way back to base. Granted, that the food would have to rest on top his beloved Mini-gun Sasha when he made his journey back to RED base. Like usual, the eight other Mercs would have to lie to Soldier that the ethnically based food was somehow imported directly from the United States.
Engineer shook his head from the brief notion of wondering about lunch.
"Aw shoot!" Engineer mutters, wiping the sweat from his eyebrows. The machine in front of him gives a pitiful sputter as smoke puffed out.
"Settle down girl," He pats the heated metal surface of the metal machine, giving a low chuckle. Squatting, he examines an array of complicated wires and buttons that would look like a mess to any outsider, but to Engineer, he could understand it perfectly well like reading a picture book. Clicking his teeth, Engineer takes out some tweezer-like tool, and ties the ends of a yellow and green wire together.
Engineer wipes some oil on his overall, and slams shut the tiny door of the machine. It purrs like a kitten, followed by another pathetic sputter. Engineer frowns, rubbing the surface of his bald head and re-adjusting his goggles. It's been a long time since the Respawn engine acted up this way…
The engineer then raised his head up with the revelation.
Come to think of it, the machine has been acting pretty strange ever since the Administrator provided him with new equipment to upgrade their technology…
While he fiddled with the piece of equipment, the Engineer heard some boots at the entrance of the doorway near him.
"Mmf, hmmfh, ppffhhhh HMMMM!" Pyro exclaims, popping its head in the doorway, waving its hands in a very animated way. The fire suit glistened off in the light. Engineer just nodded at it to show that he at least heard it.
To any other RED team member, all they would have gotten out of the Pyro's sentence is a bunch of muffled sounds. But to Engineer, its words is as clear as day. Giving a sigh and cracking his stiff neck, Engineer stands up and greets Pyro with a warm smile.
"Heh, rhubarb pie for tonight? Ya always know what lightens up my day."
Pyro bobbed its head vigorously. In some sort of strange but welcoming manner, the Engineer could see a happy shine in its darkened lenses. It skips out of the room, on its merry way to the dining room.
Setting some tools aside, the Engineer followed Pyro and he pauses to glance back at the Respawn machine. It continues to emit a sound of both a purr and offbeat sputters. The red light shining out of the engine flickers time to time.
Something is definitely up with the machine. His gloved hand then rubbed over his forehead. He thought of the various components that goes into the machine if there could be chance that he missed step. Human error is always a factor to consider with everything.
"I'll report it tomorrow." Engineer mutters with his hand over the switch, and flicking off the light. Well, it's not like that he's using his time for non-important matters. After all, there is a rhubarb pie baked by Pyro waiting to be eaten, and there wasn't a chance in hell he would miss out on such a treat. Not to mention, another long day of fighting against the BLU team tomorrow... Aside from the small malfunctions the Respawn machine was having, Engineer is sure it wouldn't throw a wrench into their battle tomorrow.
This one lazy slip-up, unknown to Engineer, is the future catalyst of the RED team's troubles.
Out of all of the members of BLU team, Spy suspected he may be the only strategically competent person out of all the buffoons for his colleagues. He however, gave up a long time ago trying to organize his chaotic team and planning strategies for their never-ending conflict with the RED team. Despite their many talents, unfortunately, listening was not one of them. Meanwhile, for the past month, BLU team was stuck on a humiliating losing streak.
And frankly, Spy was fed up with it.
Glaring at the folder delivered from the Administrator, he slams it shut.
WHAPP! The slight gust of air had several loose pages of paper get caught in the brief gust and fall to the floor. Annoyed, the Spy mentally shamed himself on losing his composure. A professional mustn't let anything slip up. He was just lucky that no one else was around to see the outburst. On one knee, he picks up the papers.
Defending the Control Points. An easy task, but once again his team would just mess up something so simple. The papers now, neatly stacked on top of each other, the Spy had his left hand reach into his inner jacket pocket. Clicking a lighter for his cigarette, Spy takes a long drag of a smoke. Wisps of grey smoke curls out of the end of his cig, and Spy stares thoughtfully through the grayness. Outside, he can hear the screaming matches of Soldiers in the hallways.
He rolls his eyes, inhaling a deep breath of smoke. He looked over to his study at his spare revolver. I need to clean zhat one later.
If there was one thing he envied about the RED team, at least they only owned one Soldier. Here in the BLU base, multiple clones of Soldiers littered the place, marching up and down like nobody's business. Always on about America this and America that. At first it was amusing, now it's nothing but a personified bad joke.
Massaging his forehead, Spy flicks the ashes of his cigarette into an ash tray. Once, just once, he would like to win. He was never one to take action, but at this point, his influence is greatly needed for his team. What is zhe best way of defending zhe control points, efficiently and quickly? He glances at a map of the RED team's base, taking account of each detail. He exhales a long funnel of smoke, deep in thought.
Zhere are only nine of zem. Zhere are dozens of us. What possibly gives zhem zhe upper-and?
Spy squints at the map, waving some smoke out of his eyes. His gloved fingers had a small dabble of ash roll off it and to the floor.
Zhe Respawn point… Spy does some quick scenarios in his mind. Getting the speed of his thoughts, Spy paces back and forth in his room. The fireplaces crackles with orange life, the only light source inside his room. It takes approximately 7 minutes for a member to respawn...so… Spy stops in his tracks, lips curling into a smile. Maybe he can use the help of his idiotic team members after all. Spinning on his heels, Spy mentally prepares himself for a trip to Demoman's room.
"Coming through chuckle-nuts!"
"Outta the way, you MAGGOTS!"
"Slow down, ye crazed dopes!"
A RED Scout and Soldier whoop at the top of their lungs, followed closely behind by a lumbering hungover Demoman. They are plowing their way through the stationed BLU Soldiers and Scouts like three bowling balls. Bullets whizzed and whiffed through the air, left and right. Red dust contaminates the air, from all of the running and kicking. The unforgiving sun beats down on everyone in the battlefield. Nevertheless, this looks like yet another victorious day for the RED team.
Hearing the screams of their offensive teammates in the distance, this signals the rest of the RED team to move through the field, closer to the BLU control point, hidden within a storage unit. Scout speeds ahead, glancing left and right for any sentries. His ears blocks out the hollering of Soldier and the cries of his teammates in the background, trying to detect the beeps of a sentry. Hearing nothing of the sort, Scout bears his signature cocky grin.
"All clear!" He whoops to the team.
Inside of the shed, he can hear the shouts and yelling of the BLU team, panicked and disoriented. "End of the line for you losers!" Scout exclaims, throwing his body against the door. This only results in him smacking pathetically against the metal surface, leaving him with a nasty forming bruise on the elbow. Scout moans and rubs his elbow.
"Idiot." The RED Spy materializes into plain sight revolver in hand. The rest of the RED team rejoin, all nine members surrounding the shed. "Strange how zhe BLU team gathered inside zhe Control Point," Spy comments to his teammates.
"A bunch of weak cowards! Not charging into battlefield with their brothers, THAT IS PATRIOTIC TREASON IN THE NAME OF WARFARE!" Soldier pounds his rocket launcher against the red ground, dust flying in the air with each rough movement.
In that moment, the puff of dust went up and Scout raised his Scattergun away from the dust. Mostly because he hates cleaning his guns when he doesn't have to. It's a pain in the ass to reload too.
"Locked door, eh?" Demonman glimpses at the metal door with his one visible eye. "These dossers aren't even tryin' anymore, arr' they?!" He clicks the red grenades in his hand to life. The RED team takes the cue to move out of Demoman's warpath, quick for cover. Giving a mad laugh, he chucks the grenades at the door, diving out of the way in the nick of time.
KABOOM! Red dust flies in the air, into an angry cloud. Remnants of the door skid across the ground, just useless metal scraps.
The RED team rushes inside, BLU control point in sight. As the red dust clears up, the RED Spy hangs behind, surveying the area. As much as he could rely on his team's tactics, something was a bit... off in this particular fight. Capturing the control point is no big task - but the enemy made no effort to give everything they got in defending the base. Why would they hole themselves up with the Control Point, waiting for them to arrive like a bunch of sitting ducks? The rest of the RED team does not take note of this odd change, storming inside the Control Point.
Mostly out of their overindulgence of bravado. Or the associated demoralization of the BLUs so could be over and done with. The Spy approves to that thought, there's a bottle of wine back at base that had his name on it.
BAAATTOOOOOOOOMMMM! The Red Spy flinched at the sight of a BLU Soldier being blasted into pieces.
No seriously, there has to be a label on everything. Otherwise, the RED Soldier or Demoman would take it. The Demo was easy enough to understand… but why would Soldier even need to do with a bottle of wine? He never drinks the stuff… Maybe I should look into zhat…
It was only a bit too little and too late, when Spy finally notices the metal plates of the Control Point altered, for there was an apparent space between the plates. And in this space, are dozens of flickering and beeping BLU bombs.
Spy could not even cry out a warning, cloak himself, or dive for cover, when Soldier jumps onto the booby trapped Control Point. With a deafening explosion, crumbling of the shed collapsing in on itself, and a violent flash of blue light, all goes black.
Holly O' Sullivan knows her apartment was no castle. The paintjob of the studio once used for dance lessons, is peeling away and stained with nasty brown stains from various leaks. The floor is a field of splinters, forcing her and Allan to wear flip flops inside the apartment 24/7. All of the lights are removed from the studio, so all they could rely on are three cheap dollar store lamps, candles, and natural sunlight pouring from the single open window on the ceiling. Water turns off after 10 pm, and turns back on 7 pm with only freezing cold water. And the suffocating smell of curry is drenched into the walls, the spicy Indian dish burning Holly's nostrils.
However, Holly would be damned if she could pass up her English high school teacher's, Mr. Khan, offer of renting the dance studio for a mere twelve hundred dollars. She nearly had a heart attack hearing such a cheap price for a big empty apartment. Holly pounces on this chance in a lifetime like a tiger, because Holly O' Sullivan is not a picky woman.
There are some perks. Holly muses, slump in her five year old black rolling chair. It is worn down from years of being sat upon, taped and patched up here and there, the wheels giving a loud squeak whenever moved around, and a faint Dorito smell that can never seem to come off of the chair. But Holly can never find it in her heart to abandon her old friend who has served her for years. She rolls in the chair, it squeaking back and forth.
She glances at her notebook, her chicken-scratch handwriting filling up the blank pages.
Pros:
1. Free Indian food from Mr. Khan's restaurant. Even if it can be too spicy or too salty sometimes.
2. Huge space.
3. House is located around Little Italy. I can always wander around the streets and stare at the food, because it is so damned expensive. Nice music plays from the band, I suppose.
4.
Holly groans when she finds her list couldn't even go up to ten. She leans her head back, looking at a brown splotch splattered on the ceiling. Pushing her glasses up the ridge of her nose, Holly glances wearily over her poor excuse of an apartment. Two blow up beds are shoved in a corner. One covered in plain red sheets and the other decorated with Spiderman themed ones. Hardly anything decorating the walls or the floor, save for ugly stains. A wooden desk she bought at a yard sale, her out of date Windows computer, and her trusty rolling chair. The single window designed into the old dance studio shows the beautiful scenery of a plain brick wall. On a good day, some water would leak out of several bricks.
She stares at her feet, feeling very mopey and all. It certainly didn't help Allan's opinion of their new apartment was... less than accepting.
"For God's sake, I can't even afford another lamp, at this point!" Holly shakes her head, feeling her hair shake back and forth. Having enough of her terrible mood, Holly flips open the computer and presses the power button. Might as well waste away my life on the internet. She thinks, giving a deep sigh. The screen flickers to life, revealing a blue screen. Holly types away her password and username without so much looking at the keyboard. Do-do-do! The computer sings its little jingle whenever Holly turns it on. Straightening her glasses once again, Holly merely glances at the bouncing email icon. She quickly presses 'QUIT' for the application. For God's sake, no more emails.
Before proceeding with her activity on the computer, Holly scribbles something else in her notebook.
4. Free wi-fi from Mr. Khan. Thank any god above.
Thank God the old man was kind enough to let her piggy back on his Wi-Fi. How much of his kindness could she actually repay? Certainly not now, since her paycheck hasn't come in and she's still stuck in the "starving artist's" lifestyle. Oh, how she hated that word, starving artist. If she had to be frank, yes she is an artist, and yes she is close to starving. As kind as the old man was, Holly wasn't sure if she could take anymore leftover curry.
A hand on her cheek, Holly opens up Steam. At least there's one thing she could vent her frustrations without any stress, whatsoever. Team Fortress 2. Then again, it is the only game in her library, aside from 'Hatoful Boyfriend' a two year old present that her sister bought as a joke. Why a game was created to purposefully date pigeons was beyond her. And why pigeons of all things…?
Wearily smiling, Holly clicks 'PLAY.'
TF2. Entertaining and absolutely free. Holly did like free stuff.
She didn't consider herself quite a gamer - she only discovered TF2 by mere chance. Just scrolling to Youtube one day, and found a funny little animation series centered by introducing the various members of the RED team. The animation Holly finds endearing - cartoonish and blockish, it works out for the Comedic Sociopathy of TF2. Which reminds her, she had to find out what sort of program people use to animated TF2 shorts. The animator-geek inside her could not resist, after all.
Drifting out of her thoughts, Holly frowns to see TF2 still loading to open up. She leans forward, staring at the screen blankly. Something pops up on her screen.
TF2 Application being processed and updated - PROCEED?
ACCEPT DENY
Holly squints at the screen, reading the pop-up. Shrugging, she clicks the highlighted ACCEPT option.
Once Holly presses ACCEPT, the screen freezes. Then, it shuts down.
"Huh?" Holly clicks the power button feverishly, bewildered. A heat emits from the computer. "What the heck…? Don't tell me I have to get a new one. I can't afford that!" She stammers to herself while the screen flashes back to life. This time, the screen is completely red, bold black letters sprawled across the screen reading, 'LOADING, PLEASE WAIT…' Holly sits back in her chair, frowning suspiciously. Sure her computer can randomly break down and shut off at times since it is so old, but this has never happened before... Something else pops up on her screen.
INITIATE TRANSFER?
ACCEPT DENY
All there is on Holly's mind is hoping to dear God she didn't need to buy a computer. So, without thinking deeper on making a choice, Holly clicks ACCEPT once again. That is when true hell breaks loose. A disturbing whine-siren like noise activate from her computer. The red screen shines brighter than ever. Holly jumps back, covering her ears. Her computer vibrates, numbers running up and down across the screen.
The same bright red light takes up her vision…
...And when Holly opens her eyes, she sees the last thing she would've last expected in her twenty-six years of living.
On the floor, lies crumpled a bunch of hulking and armed men suited for the military. Some of them groan, others cursed in a foreign tongue, but all in all, these strange men that have invaded her room were unconscious. Looking closely, Holly realizes with silent terror and confusion that they looked liked...the characters from TF2 itself. They weren't like the cartoony and blocky models in the video game, but Holly can recognize them.
Her eyes flit back and forth from body to body. It's all too familiar - trademark baseball cap on Scout, eyepatch and beanie on the Demoman, the hulking mass of the Heavy, skewed glasses and pristine nurse uniform of the Medic, hard helmet of the Soldier, yellow construction hat and red goggles of the Mechanic, the masked shapeless uniform of the Pyro, and the silly cowboy hat of the Sniper…
Holly scoots away, breathing hard and keeping her eyes trained on the unconscious men. She bumps against the kitchen cabinet. Keeping her eyes glued on the mercenaries, she manages to grasp her hand on a frying pan. An insufficient weapon, but something to defend herself with nevertheless. Tiptoeing closer to the pile of men, she processes her options.
Call the police?
Run out of the apartment?
Throw the men out?
Her thoughts a buzz, Holly shoots down each idea popping up in her head. Amidst the panic overwhelming her head, questions sprout out left and right.
Where did these men come from?
Why are they dressed like the cast of TF2?
How did they get in her apartment?
Looking over the men, she sees, much to her relief, that they are all unarmed of any firearms, save for their melee weapons.
Should I confiscate them…? Holly ponders, frying pan still clutched in her hands.
Something taps her fingers. "Ah, Mademoiselle - ?"
Startled and acting purely on reflexes, Holly spins around, WHOOOONGGG! She smacks Spy's face square on the head with her frying pan.
The thin, wiry body of the Spy falls to the floor, slack.
Holly freezes, frying pan still raised in the air. She lets out a little squeak, shocked. Okay, so now she has nine unconscious men littering her apartment. And Allan's day at school is nearly over.
Great.
Just fan-freaking great.