While those who lived to tell the following tale remember it all too clearly, none of them can agree on when exactly it started. For some it was during those illegal experiments in Australia, while others insist it was when the Engineers started questioning things they knew they shouldn't have.
Most of them blame Scout. He blames Sniper, who blames Spy, who admits to nothing.
Regardless, things long ago sent into motion were headed inexorably to crash. Whether it was fate, the decisions of dealers in secrets and shadows, or the ultimate design of something even more sinister remains up to interpretation. The result was the same and the scars are there to stay.
The beginning of the end began at the end of the week. It was a Saturday morning. Mist took shelter in the mountain trees from the rising sun as it struck the low clouds with gold and red. Birds were beginning their daily ritual of staking claim and repairing their homes. A small flock of ravens were huddled around a series of cement and steel buildings in their quest for food—
—only to be startled into the air by a man butchering 'Reveille' on a broken bugle.
The twisted shrieks of the military wake-up call echoed across the wilderness. At ground zero, the barracks of BLU Inc, seven very upset figures emerged from their dens and headed to the training field. This consisted of a ¼ mile running track, weights, an obstacle course, a mountain path, and a giant ditch (for digging exercises of course).
They were dressed a little too lightly for the cold, wearing white sleeveless shirts, black hiking boots and gray sweatpants. Their clothes came standard issue and one-size-fits-all, which was necessary as they had every body-type, size and accent the world had to offer. The tallest and biggest was a Russian dubbed Heavy, and his smaller, older companion a German they called Medic. The slender French fellow was Spy, the shorter Texan the Engineer, and... that walking bundle of scarves and coats over there was probably the enigmatic thing called the Pyro.
They, too, filled the morning with their chorus.
"Mother o' mercy! Can't he play the bloody thing in tune?!"
"Spah 'round here."
"Bonjour to you, too."
"Carry me, doktor."
"NEIN!"
"Hmmfmmm ffmmm hmm!"
A lanky, middle-aged man stood silent watch. His jaws were graced with the most rugged sideburns outside of his native land of Australia, which was an achievement. Classified as the Sniper, his piercing gaze raked the windows and doorways. No movement so far. Maybe they got lucky this time and their one absent teammate had slept in. Maybe just this once they could train without trouble and go about their day like civilized—
"AaaaAAAWWW MY FREAKIN' GOD!"
"Gyaaaaah," Sniper groaned. Scout was awake and on time. He was on time every week, and every week he announced his displeasure as long as his lungs would allow.
"WHAT GODDAMN BULLSHIT IS DIS?! IT'S 6:00AM IN THE FREAKIN' MORNING! I HAVEN'T EVEN EATEN YET, WHO THE HELL HAS TIME FOR BREAKFAST, AND I CAN'T FEEL MY TOES!"
Scout was the youngest and by far the loudest. Hailing from Boston and in his early twenties, the very thin, very fast baseball enthusiast made sure that he didn't suffer the outrage of early morning exercise alone. Seeing the Sniper was standing a ways from the group and was determined to avoid meeting his eyes, Scout picked him as that day's complaint department.
"GOD, I FREAKIN' HATE DIS!" he yelled, trotting over to the Aussie, who had no escape. "Dis is our ONE GODDAMN DAY OFF, and HE has us doin' DRILLS!" Scout said, pointing at the rooftop where 'Reveille' had made its last pitiful cry.
"Goddamn crazy-ass SOLDIER and his crazy-ass BULLSHIT! Man, did, did you know, dat he had me doin' duck-walks for a mile last week!? A FREAKIN' MILE?!"
"You pissed him off," Sniper said, pointedly plugging his ears. It didn't help. "An' ya still did it, didn't ya?"
"YEAH I did, 'cuz I'm awesome!" Scout replied, beaming and puffing out his chest. "Bet you couldn't do dat, huh? I bet I'm the only one! HE damn well couldn't!"
Sniper tried to reach him. "No, I mean—'ang on, lad, ya still took 'is orders, and—"
"He can't even do HALF of what we can!" Scout went on, oblivious to the interruption. "Swear to freakin' GOD, he makes me do ONE MORE FREAKIN' PUSH-UP, I'M GONNA—"
"Yeah? Whot? You'll do whot?" Sniper snarled back. Though his voice lacked the same volume as Scout's, it held such menace that the kid shut right up. Sniper seized his chance and said what everyone else was thinking.
"Every bloody Saturday you get out here, bitchin' an' moanin', and then when Soldier shows up, lo an' behold, you fall in line wit' the rest of us. You're always yammerin' on an' on about how great you are an' how you're a rebel an' all that, but for Chris' sakes, kid, you're not foolin' anyone! Give it up already!"
"Ah... wh-... I... HUH!?" Scout stammered through Sniper's speech, but Sniper wasn't finished yet.
"Right. Let me try and explain this so you can understand," he said, putting his hands on Scout's bony shoulders and speaking slowly and clearly, "All your complainin' ever does is make him punish us. He's our leader, not you, an' that's not gonna change. Unless you're fixin' to actually say any of this to his face, shut up, an' get this over with."
He let his arms fall back to his sides and started to walk to the rest of his team, who were forming a line according to height. "Please. For us," he finished, his expression a mix of exhaustion and disgust.
Scout blinked many times. He stood there a few minutes—perhaps the longest he's ever held still—his jaw fixed at a confused pout while he tried to get his brain to function.
"...What just happened?"
A moment later, double-doors burst open with a clatter. An exceptionally muscular man in his late-thirties marched into the training area.
"Goooooood morning, ladies!" he said.
"HMMF FMMFFM!"
"And Pyro, of course." The man approached them through the fog. His broad shoulders sported the clasps of his military dress uniform. His tie was perfect, his tunic a sky blue, and his black boots had been polished until they shone.
While these things left the desired impression, the most striking thing about him was the helmet on his head. It wasn't polished at all, its straps were old and dangling, and it was covered in dents. Stranger still, it didn't fit; his helmet covered his eyes completely.
For the men on the field this was nothing new. It was boring, draining, agonizing routine. They were far more preoccupied with how tired they were, how cold it was, and the riding crop in their leader's hand. Despite the absurd headgear, he radiated power and command with every step, and apparently could see where he was going just fine.
This was Jane Doe, the first member of the BLU mercenary team. A man constantly at the top of the scoring charts, who held the record for dominations all these years in a row, and whose KDR was nothing short of ridiculous.
Soldier.
"AtteeeeeeeeeeeenTION!" he barked, his voice as smooth as sandpaper that smoked too much. At the order, his troops immediately straightened their backs. Scout, still pouting, was among them as well in his assigned position next to Spy and a pile of scarves and coats that said 'hudduh'. Scout thought it looked like a fuzzy starfish.
"MAGGOTS! Yesterday was an ABYSMAL FAILURE! NOT to mention the day before THAT, AND THE DAY BEFORE THAT! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS, MAGGOT?!" he yelled in their faces, focusing the last question at Demoman.
"Ach—?"
"OF COURSE YOU DON'T BECAUSE MAGGOTS ONLY SUCK AT THINGS AND THEN DIE! As your REWARD for sucking so UNBELIEVABLY HARD, Sargent Spank and I will PT you until you SWEAT ALL THE SUCK OUT OF YOUR VERY SOULS!"
He emphasized his final point by striking his palm with his riding crop. This brought out a collective groan from the 'maggots'.
"WHINING IS WEAKNESS ENTERING THE BODY, EVERYONE DOWN!"
Soldier sneered with some satisfaction as they held push-up position on their hands and toes. "DOWN!" he commanded. All of them obediently touched their chests to the ground then came back up and yelled in unison, "ONE, SIR!"
"DOWN!"
"TWO, SIR!"
"DOWN!"
"THREE, SIR!"
Wait... someone was still standing up.
"HOOOOOOOLD IT," Soldier said, trotting up to the mutineer. "I SMELL DISSENSION! SCOUT! WHAT IS YOUR MALFUNCTION, ROOKIE?!"
Scout was indeed simply standing there. He was hunched over and hugging himself, trying not to shiver. Soldier was over twice his size and looming over him so closely that Scout could actually look into his cold blue eyes under that stupid helmet.
Also his breath was terrible and Soldier spat when he was angry.
"GET DOWN ON THE GROUND, MAGGOT! HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN HOW TO DO THESE!?"
Scout looked away and muttered something, but he didn't move.
"LESS TALK MORE OBEY ME!" Soldier yelled all the louder. "Awfully SELFISH of you to make your TEAMMATES work while you GAG YOUR LOLLIES!"
"Auch, Scoot," said Demoman in his Scottish accent, "Don' make him angry again, aye? Jus' git this doon so we can git back ta bed."
Soldier nodded. "You should listen to him! He's an endangered species!"
The entire BLU company was very fortunate that Soldier had his gaze fixed on Scout. Demoman had flicked off the Soldier and mouthed 'Ka-BEWM!' while he wasn't looking.
Scout glanced at something or someone to his left, then he said, "Shove it up your ass."
Soldier's eyes widened just a touch. The only one who could tell was Scout. The others showed their irritation with hisses or snarls as their arms began to shake. Once again, the fastest member of their team had spoken without thinking and made training all the worse for them.
Soldier came closer. "What did you say to me, son?" he growled, turning Scout's chin up to face him with Sgt. Spank.
Scout took one last look at Sniper and steeled himself. He pushed the riding crop aside and yelled, "I said, SHOVE IT up your FLABBY OLD ASS!"
Silence. Engineer turned to watch with mild interest, Pyro 'hudduh'd' quietly with concern, and Spy actually dropped his cigarette in surprise. Sniper was pretending very hard he wasn't there while Medic said something unsavory in German.
Heavy couldn't care less. He was secretly lying on his belly instead of holding himself up.
Soldier leaned back and cracked his neck once to the side. "Mm. That hurts my feelings, son," he said, his voice a low, gravelly growl. Faster than Scout could react, he punched the kid in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
"YOU GUTLESS LITTLE PUNK!" Soldier roared. Scout was doubled over from the hit, gasping for air. He tried to stand back up, but Soldier was on him in a flash, kicking him down into the dirt.
"HALF of everything that went wrong was YOUR FAULT! I saw you ignore that Spy 3 DAMN TIMES IN A ROW! YOU'RE MORE USELESS THAN A DRUNKEN LLAMA IN ROLLERSKATES AND MY ASS IS FLAWLESS!"
Soldier ended his rant by striking his own hindquarters with Sgt. Spank without flinching.
"BLAMMO! Now GET back up so you can get DOWN and DO PUSH-UPS LIKE A BIG BOY!"
Scout had landed on his side from the kick. The frozen gravel scratched and dug into his skin and he could barely breathe. He rolled onto his elbows and then his hands and knees, gripping the rocks between his fingers. Tears of pain and embarrassment stung his eyes and his throat was closing and his lungs and ribs hurt and this was so wrong but no one was saying anything!
His teammates' collective apathy enraged him the most, which gave him a sudden burst of energy. Scout got his feet under him and jumped up despite his painfully protesting body. Once he gained his balance, he swung a right-hook into Soldier's jaw.
Soldier took the hit, then simply turned back to face him like nothing happened. "SIGH. Weak. I keep telling you to lead with your hip, son."
Scout gaped for a second, then swung a left. This time Soldier adjusted his stance so the kid's knuckles landed squarely against his helmet.
CLANG!
Something inside his fist broke. Scout froze. Medic called him a "Dummkopf."
The Scout was not known for his discipline. In fact, 'disciplined' would never be a word used to describe him ever. Words like arrogant, brash, hyper, ignorant and narcissistic were far more likely. Neither was he strong, this one, but he was proud, and it was pride that forced him to hide what just happened, to slowly lower his fist and hold Soldier's stare without looking away.
Still, the street-wise, smart-mouthed Scout couldn't find anything to say until Soldier lifted his helmet to look at him. "Are you done, soldier?" he said.
"We. Are NOT. YOUR! SOLDIERS!" Scout yelled when he was able to inhale again. "We're freakin' MERCENARIES! WE DON'T WORK FOR YOU! YOU CAN'T ORDER US TO DO SHIT!"
For an instant, Soldier looked like he might take Scout seriously, regarding the young man with a curious expression. "Is that what you think?" he said, then he let his helmet fall back over his eyes and snorted, his breath fogging and joining the mist around them. "Well then, it is only fair we put it to a vote! Everyone UP!"
The others stood up with some relief, stretching their arms and chests before standing back at attention. "Those among you who agree with Scout can join us on a 20-mile run! The rest need only say, 'Sir, thank you, sir!' and enjoy the rest of your day off!"
It was unanimous. "SIR, THANK YOU, SIR!" said six men and a Pyro without hesitation.
Soldier grinned and saluted them. "DiiiiiSMISSED!"
Scout almost didn't have time to be shocked before they disbanded. "You gotta be kiddin' me..." he said, watching those he'd almost kind of considered buddies sometimes abandon him so he could run all day with General Crazy-Pants and his whip.
The Engineer smiled pleasantly and waved. "Start prayin', boy."
Sniper only shook his head and turned away. Scout watched him go, glaring daggers into his back.
Spy, oddly enough, remained on the sidelines to watch.
"Hmfmm FMM fhhmfm..."
"Is bed time, doktor."
"NICHTS DA!"
"MEDIIIIC!" Soldier called.
"UWAAAAAH!"
"Heal up Mr. Army Of One over here then throw him back onto the track in five," Soldier said, patting the Bostonian's head affectionately. "We'll make this as fair as we can, ok, kid?"
Scout threw off Soldier's hand. "Are you seriously challengin' me to a marathon, bro?" he asked, lightly holding his left forearm. How could someone so much bigger and older hope to win?
Soldier chuckled. "Try to keep up."