M for some language, violence, and romantic scenes later in the story.
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters/etc in this fanfic (only a slight alteration was done on the main character). All belongs to Valve/TF2/etc.
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Late afternoon was quickly descending upon the land, but the sun was still high enough in the sky to provide adequate lighting for one to follow the dirt path by car (without use of headlights, that is). Spring had already come and gone, but its effects still lingered about the area, even in the freshly established summer atmosphere. Small, spiked shrubs sprouted from the ground in random or even odd patterns, while a small handful of relatively sturdy trees stood watch in the blistering heat. Damn, this place was a desert, and even I was surprised at the seemingly abundant life (which was an overstatement, mind you, but it had more plant-life than one would expect) which populated the otherwise barren landscape. Most were already swathed in the thick, dark green girth of summer, while others took longer to transition between seasons, still adorning small hints of lighter shades. But really, I'm sure I'm being generous. The growth was spread out, far too sparse to even consider this place anything other than a wasteland.
Thin, yellowish dirt cloaked the ground, almost too easily stirred up by a common breeze, but even with all the soil around, it didn't really do anything. And by that, I mean establish any decent landmarks.
There were no hills, save for the ones far off to the horizon, seeming to encage the road I was driving on by the distant mountains, but I didn't really count those. Even animal life was meager, but whether it was due to the harsh conditions, or simply because of the structures the lay ahead, I wasn't sure, nor did I really care.
When referring to my life right now.. one would say money was "tight" (to put it lightly). The University that I had attended for the past 8 years was becoming increasingly expensive, and the cash to supplement that was becoming harder to come by. The savings I had put toward the schooling had been quickly drained within the first 3 years, and the co-op jobs as such were the only ones I could find that helped pay the funds (otherwise, I was stuck eating ketchup soup, which was a main diet anyway). But.. despite that, I was still determined. With 2 masters and 3 bachelors in various fields of engineering (mostly of the mechanical, or mechatronic sort), I was still aiming for PhDs, perhaps out of stubbornness.
But, whatever the case, this was one of the most well-paying jobs the co-op program offered. It dealt with my preferred field of expertise (mostly building robots, as far as the job description stated), and the cash.. goodness. It'd help get through a good few debts that my pockets still owed. Sure, it was an odd job, one fueled only by the intense desire of 2 groups of people to dominate, but hey.. whatever floats your boat, I suppose.
The red-ish building I was headed for loomed in the distance, growing in size rapidly, along with the other constructions that lay behind it.
As I pulled into the iron gates, I took a better look at what was to be my supposed "headquarters" of the next while. It was a.. hmm.. to put it nicely, a rather "well-fare" building, as the kids today would call it, but it certainly was large. Towering over my rusted pick-up truck, it provided the worn metal of the automobile with some well deserved shade, and even I couldn't help but sigh at the relief from the sweltering rays.
The building was largely comprised of red-ish wooden boards, accompanied by small sections of metal sheeting, and plenty of patch-up jobs. To be honest, it looked like it was originally a barn that was simply built onto time and time again to suit the growing need for more space.
I simply left the truck where it was, seeing no real spot for parking, and opened the door (which hadn't been oiled in a while, and squeaked in protest upon me doing so), stretching my cramped legs. A 3 hour drive in hot temperatures with a truck with little or no suspension was quite rough on one's body; and mine, although used to sitting down for hours upon hours on end fiddling with devices or studying, wasn't really prepared for the bumps and bruises the rocky dirt road provided.
The uniforms for the different jobs at this place were certainly odd, and I didn't seem to understand them at all, or at least, didn't understand mine. A wrinkled red work-shirt hung from my upper-body, it's sleeves rolled up lazily in an attempt to help relinquish some heat (while clinging to certain areas due to perspiration) with a white undershirt sagging underneath. Dark brown overalls certainly didn't help the temperature problem, and a tool belt constricted any possible attempt at the fabric "breathing", hanging off of which was a gun holster, a length of orange extension cable, and a pouch for whatever small tools one required. Light orange knee-pads further restricted air circulation, and gray, steel-toed boots upped the warmth factor. Lovely.
It was then that I decided it was time to finish suiting up, pulling out the dark yellow protective glove from the small storage space beneath my truck's chair, along with the matching hardhat and welding goggles. I quickly shoved my ponytail'd hair (which was dark brown and curly, for those of you who even care at this point) into the helmet, accompanied by the strapping on of goggles, and the putting on of the one glove I was provided.
To be honest, the outfit of the supposed "engineer" made no sense. Most of the "engineers" I'd had the pleasure of comprehending had calculators and worked in labs, building anything from small mechanical devices, or the larger ones, used in factories. Sure, they all wore protective clothing of some kind, but really, knee-pads didn't help much, nor did welding goggles (or the fact I had ONE protective glove), really; in fact, they just seemed to get in the way, especially when walking around for the whole day with goggles that really obstructed your vision. Also.. a pipe-wrench? I don't remember being hired to fix pipes.
But whatever beef I had with my wardrobe didn't really stand for anything, as it was mandatory, and.. it wasn't too bad, at least. Better than a clown costume, anyway.
A few loose strands of curls had already fallen down from their new helmet dwelling as I continued into the worn crimson structure, and I batted at them in annoyance, finally deciding to tuck them behind my ears. It was then that a red light, immediately to my left on the side of the wall, went off, and a voice from a seemingly unknown source announced something along the lines of
"Ceasefire initiated. All team members, please return to your appropriate base."
I squinted my eyes, attempting to locate the source of the voice; however, little good it did, as the welding goggles obstructed most of my vision, especially in a building abundant with shade.
"Ceasefire?.." I muttered to myself, which was soon greeted by the sound of other voices.
--
The room to which I was currently standing must have been some sort of transitioning one, as the doorway that I was positioned in was rather unprotected, and the hallway to which it led snaked off in different directions. I narrowed my eyes again in a vain attempt to gain better sight, and from what I could see, stairs descended into the depths of the base to the pathway to my upper left, while the other seemingly headed to more open rooms, perhaps containing various supplies. I chose the left, slinking down the stairs towards the voices I had heard only moments prior.
The inside of the base didn't offer much in any way to compensate for the ragged exterior. Concrete walls and floors worn out from years of battle (and quite stained with blood, I might add; probably from a fair few struggles) were what awaited me as I continued downward, following the general pathway of the stairs. A few bullet casings were scattered about the floor, but nothing too gruesome reared its ugly head, as of yet (not that I was really expecting something as such; but a disassembled hand or leg might have been interesting).
The sound of human chatter continued to refract off of the rock walls, but after finishing my climb downward, I wasn't really paying much attention to them anymore. I let out an impressed whistle as I took in the sight that was, from what I could tell, one of the main rooms of the fortress. A giant screen occupied the vast majority of the opposing wall, a feat only matched by the sprawling set of keyboards, buttons, and various other mechanical doo-dads which lay out beneath the behemoth of a monitor. On the adjacent left wall hung a myriad of weapons ranging from shotguns, and rocket launchers to simple daggers and knives; quite the collection indeed.
Re-adjusting my hardhat, I turned my body to face the right, which headed off into another transitioning hallway, to which I followed, pursuing the hushed lull of conversation. The wall was at least labeled, probably in an attempt to add less confusion to new recruits and the like (me being one of them). The blatant statement of "Kitchen/Recreation Area" was scrawled across the concrete in red ink, along with an arrow that pointed in the direction I was now following. Coming to the door of the assumed place, I noticed it was already open, albeit only a small fraction, so I took the opportunity to glance through it casually.
I wasn't really in the mood for a fancy entrance to meet my colleagues, however I was interested in whom I was dealing with. I was told I would be joining a team of approximately 5, the other members recently picked off in combat. The sides of my mouth stretched slightly at this thought.. exactly how rough was the combat in this place.. ?
"Well, well, what do we'ave 'ere?"
The sound came from a proximity very close to my ear, heavily laced with a thick French accent, and the subtle stench of cigarettes. Instincts kicked in, and I swung my gloved hand (the one which held my wrench) backward quickly, however apparently not rapidly enough. A hand swathed in leather caught my arm with almost no effort, forcing me to turn around to meet the culprit. What I met was the intrigued, distant stare of a rather tall man, dressed in a fine crimson silk tie with matching mask and leather gloves. He wore a suit, too, however its color was more of a dingy brown, rather than the boisterous red of the rest of his garments.
I had read the training manual rather vigorously previous to my arrival, and according to that, personages adorning the same color as you were on your "team", so to call it. My muscles relaxed slightly, noticing my work shirt and his general apparel seemed to fit under that category, but being restrained wasn't quite how I wanted to spend my afternoon. I yanked my wrist away from the grasp of the man, all the while attempting to combat his opening statement with a witty one of my own.
"Cheesy French accent, check. Ski mask, suit, and stench of cigarettes, check. You must be the Spy?"
I vaguely recalled the descriptions of the different beings whom I'd be working with, but the Spy's I definitely remembered, so pinpointing who the tall man was was close to little or no effort. I also remembered the rule of "calling people by their job, not name" as being a strange thing to abide by.. but.. somehow I liked it now, as relinquishing my name to one with such a cold stare seemed somewhat unnerving.
It also dawned on me that a smart-ass opening line wasn't really how I wanted to be portrayed, at least, not to someone as such. So, trying to appear a little more dignified, I flashed a partially sincere smile (which probably ended up looking like a lopsided grin under his cool gaze).
"Oui, z'at would be me," he clarified, all the while his eyes scanning me in a somewhat questionable manner, "and by zee looks of it, you appear to be our oz'ere Engineer."