Amongst Foundations

Disclaimer: I don't own tf2.

Chapter 1

The train was twelve minutes late arriving into the station on the waves of Thursday afternoon sun. Human error, Ceely thought with a hint of disdain, the only type of error when it comes to machines. Only in good machines, of course. She hoped that she'd be seeing much more of good machines in the future, now that she was hired for Reliable Excavation Demolition. Of course, Builders League United was more industrial in a sense, but she supposed for that reason that they didn't require more engineers like RED did. Getting the job had been a magnificent stroke of luck, really.

She lifted her middle-sized suitcase easily onto the train and stowed it in the luggage compartment, making her way down the aisle to the seat on her ticket. The seat next to her became the resting place for her backpack. After pulling the curtain closed and plugging her ears against the clamor of the other passengers, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax.

You've come a far way from the slums, kiddo. And this journey's gonna be longer yet.

She couldn't help but think of her father at a time like this. He was probably in their apartment right now, tinkering with their radio or smoking from his pipe, now that she wasn't there to stop that habit. God, she hated the smell of smoke. It was a little better when it was tobacco, but smoke from machines smelled to her of failure and mistakes, of human error, of doing things wrong and breaking instead of fixing.

And maybe her mother was watching her from heaven right now. Maybe she was wondering why her daughter had been raised like a son, why her daughter was now going to build machines like she had always wanted to. But her mother could go to her father for those answers.

She didn't remember much of her mother. She knew that she had inherited her mother's large doe eyes and round face, and she had her mother's fine black hair. But she kept it short in a hand-hacked diagonal, instead of in an immaculate braid. She remembered her mother's voice the most, high and bright while she cooked dinner, and a dry croak as she lay on the hospital bed, as cancer devoured her lungs and left useless the operations of such a finely designed body.

Ceely had decided then, at the age of seven, that she could not be a doctor. Death reeked of failure in that profession, and she did not want to let her abilities and success hinge on the performance of the imperfect human composition. And her father, who had always wanted a son in the Chinese tradition, gladly helped her along the road to becoming a mechanic like himself. She cut off her pigtails the day after her mother died, topped on a baseball cap she found in the alley, and followed her dad into the garage wearing her very first pair of overalls, donated by a generous neighbor and a size too big. The workshop became her domain, and her hands felt naked without grease and metal shavings. Armed with a wrench and screwdrivers, she invoked mechanical messiahs and immersed herself in steel and aluminum, hinges and rivets holding her existence together. The neighborhood boys that picked on her in the beginning came to her with bikes and scooters later, and she fixed their cars in return for them teaching her how to scrap with the streets.

But politics would never leave science alone. In three short years, the glory of Australium was unleashed upon the world, and, to put it simply, the technology became too good. No longer did car parts shear or warp as easily, and there was no longer a steady stream of customers for her father and her to make happy by fixing their machines. Ceely's dinners became more and more white rice with less and less meat and vegetables. Her father always saved up money for her to get milk from the milkman, but her height stalled when she hit sixteen, an inch shy of five foot and a half.

During high school, when such things mattered, she could never afford the bell bottoms or tube tops, and used the same backpack for all four years, patching it and fixing the zippers herself. But she got the best grades just fine in her secondhand jeans and threadbare collared shirts from the landlord upstairs. And it was easier to live with the knowledge that another grease stain on her pants, or another blood spatter from breaking noses in street brawls, would be barely noticeable. She never bothered with the time to style her hair, and eventually her round face grew into the diagonal cropped layers, usually pinned back or pushed away with gloved hands or goggles. "The outside of a person gets dirtied every day," she remembered her father telling her in Chinese. "But the things your hands make and the knowledge your mind gains remain under your power to shape and use."

She graduated a year early from a certain Massachusetts institute with a degree in mechanical engineering. But the student loans were a burden she couldn't afford to bring to her father, whose ailing health wasn't aided by his smoking. And so she found herself combing the classifieds, yawning at the personal ads and raising an eyebrow at the offers of Russian brides.

Until the massive spread of brick red newsprint exploded across the next page. "Reliable Excavation Demolition!" it proclaimed in classic white cursive. "Engineers especially encouraged! Build innovative technology and make a difference!" The vague wording was just enough to give her hope. And so she took the ad's advice and applied, submitting a pristine copy of her resume.

"Red is good color, Ceely," her father had told her. "Lucky color in China. You are special girl, too. Sure to get job."

A week later, she got a tinny phone call and a request for an interview as soon as possible. And so she scrounged around and found an actual women's blouse in the alley trash cans next door, and redesigned one of her father's old overcoats into a semi-stylish pencil skirt, spending the entire evening hunched over the dim glow from the sewing machine. Wobbling into the office two days later on borrowed heels with no hose, she smiled broadly and gave the bespectacled young lady behind the desk a firm handshake.

"The Administrator is ready for you now, Miss Wang."

The woman seated at the cluttered desk in the room was also dressed in purple. The room was heavy with smoke, but she tried to ignore it. The lady's glare, however, was like a stamp of disapproval as her half-lidded eyes raked haughtily over Ceely's hair, over the mismatched skirt and heels. "Close the door, Ms. Pauling." The younger woman tittered nervously and left, shutting her in.

The Administrator terrified her, but in a different way than the thesis panel had. She looked like a woman with no expectations and infinite amounts of disappointment at her disposal. "Cecilia Wang. You're a girl."

Woman, she argued in her mind. But ten years living in the South before college made her bite her tongue. "Yes, ma'am."

The Administrator took a long drag, biting down unnecessarily hard on the end of the cigarette. "I suppose it was my fault for assuming the best from the application. Prop will be hearing from me for this." Ceely nodded, not sure what to say. The Administrator continued, one penciled brow arched. That eyebrow is definitely drawn on. "But you have the experience, and you're used to working in…less than ideal conditions."

"Yes ma'am." The Administrator narrowed her eyes, one bony finger drawing a nail across the copy of Ceely's CV.

"You are aware," she began sternly, "that we did not expect a female to apply for such a position."

"The ad didn't say male engineer, ma'am."

The Administrator stared hard at Ceely, and her thin lips twisted wryly in the semblance of a smirk. "Indeed. And you do know that every female hired so far has been unable to uphold their end of the contract?"

This did not surprise her. But what was that about a contract? "I hadn't known, but correlation does not imply causality. Past probabilities have no indication in independent events."

The Administrator waved an impatient hand. "Spare me your talk. You will be spending company with nine other men, none of whom will appreciate a garrulous engineer."

"It'll be like every other day in college." She was used to being one of the guys. Her ironing board physique didn't hurt this.

"Miss Wang, I am certain you will find that the experience with RED will be nothing like an ivory tower." Her hand pulled open a desk drawer, and for a moment, Ceely was scared that the icy woman would pull out a revolver. But she merely withdrew a large envelope and a pen. "Read this document, please. And sign if you are willing."

Ceely took the paper she pushed towards her, eyes scanning quickly over the black print. Contract…terms…one year of employment…prompt obedience…abiding all rules and regulations to be given on arrival at positions…unwavering alliance to RED. She bit her lip at the strange wording. But the second to last bullet point almost made her gasp. Salary negotiable, starting at a base of $2,000/mo. She'd be able to repay all of her loans in less than six months, all while doing what she loved: building machines.

The pen scratched on the heavyweight paper. The Administrator smiled and handed Ceely the envelope. "Here is your ticket and a copy of your contract. You will be going to Teufort in Arizona. They have just recently required an engineer to remedy structural insecurities. The train leaves on Friday."

Ceely nodded, slipping the envelope into the folder she carried. She thanked the Administrator and shook her clammy hand. As she made her way unsteadily to the door, the older woman's voice floated out to her like the smoke. "Miss Wang? I never want to see you in heels again."

Ceely smiled, one hand on the doorknob. "Yes ma'am. You and me both."

She could have mistaken the Administrator's cough for a barking laugh.

The stations left on the list before Teufort peeled away as the hours passed. Ceely, waking from a short nap, was left soon in silence as the compartment spat out the last of the other passengers, bound for nicer things. The clacking of the train tracks mocked her, as she remembered what she heard.

The rumors first came to her when she was in college. At the career fair, the RED and BLU booths were almost deserted, despite the enthusiasm displayed by the recruiters. As a freshman, she had been curious enough, and actually talked with the BLU representative at length about the need for function over form, but they weren't interested in a girl, much less one so young.

It wasn't until afterwards that she found out why nobody was interested in the two companies. A graduate student who had seen her talking to them sat her down on a bench outside. "Ceely, listen. You're a bright girl, and you're a rare one in this field. Don't get involved with those companies," he told her in a hushed whisper. "Some people never make it back. Of the people I've seen who return, not one of them has come back the way they went."

"Well, it's what I expect. I mean, they did have that war at some point, right? The Mann brothers?" Ceely remembered her father telling her how the secret war had ended with the simultaneous deaths of the brothers in 1971, barely two years ago.

But the other student shook his head. "It's not just psychological trauma. Every one of them is missing a limb, maybe two, and sometimes they're even permanently disfigured elsewhere. My best friend was drafted in to be a soldier, and when he came back, he was on crutches, and didn't talk to anybody for the next year before he killed himself. "

She understood his warning, but when she was applying for this job, she figured she'd be an engineer. And engineers worked behind the scenes; they never touched a battlefield. All she had to do was design, build, and fix, and leave the operation to the field hands.

It was dark outside already. She couldn't tell how fast the train was moving, or where she was; oddly, there were no streetlights anywhere outside. Ceely rubbed her eyes with the long sleeve of her red button down shirt. The letter in the envelope she was given stated that the only acceptable top dress must be red. This had been easy for her; Ceely's father was more than happy to spend money on red shirts for his daughter, especially since she preferred cheap flannel and linen men's button downs.

The rumble and clack of the train hurtling across the continent was a soothing noise, with the occasional hiss of pneumatics or brakes around turns. We have so much trust in machines. I can't trust humans nearly as much. As auspicious as this journey had been, with the red, the engineer, the immediate job offer, and the gratuitous salary, she couldn't help but feel unease. Something wasn't quite right about the old lady in purple. Or maybe it was the contract. Ceely had read over the contract several times after she got home, and each time, the wording struck her as strange. She felt like she had signed over any semblance of free will.

But the long day was catching up to her. The air in the train car had a pleasant scent, like warm baked goods. She closed her tired eyes and troubled thoughts, one hand in her lap, the other one slung around her backpack on the seat beside her. The rhythm of the train tracks lulled her into sleep again.

"…Miss? 'Scuse me, miss?"

"…mmmhuh?" Ceely straightened, blinking sleep away, something that seemed harder than usual. The conductor looked down at her kindly.

"Miss, we've arrived at Teufort. I woulda wakened you sooner, but you looked like you needed the extra shuteye."

Ceely nodded, yawning. "Ah, excuse me. Thank you, sir. I'll collect my bag in a moment."

"No need to hurry, miss, we're refueling anyways." With another gentle smile that twitched his moustache, the conductor left the compartment. Ceely nudged open the curtains from the window and looked out across the desert landscape, the sands rosy in the early morning sun. With a sigh and a weak smile, she stood up, stretched, and shouldered her backpack, heading for the luggage compartment.

The caster wheels on her retrofitted suitcase clattered against the wooden planks of the station platform, but she knew they would hold. She had tightened every one of those nuts and bolts herself four years ago, knowing that this was her only suitcase, and knowing she would have to make it last through college and beyond. The midsummer air here was dry already, though fairly cool still. A bell dinged, and she turned to watch the conductor as the train began moving. He tipped his hat towards her, a smile on his face but a crease of worry-or was it pity?- in his eyes. Ceely smiled brightly and waved back at him, trying to reassure him. He mouthed what she thought was, "Good luck", and his smile faded as he turned away from her to head back into the departing train.

"Hm. Goodbyes are always sad." She was out of college, and the only family she had was many states east away. She wouldn't even see this train until one year later. But this next year was going to be idyllic for her; building machines and engineering for preposterous amounts of money, with similarly motivated engineers. She hummed, and began walking energetically towards the faded, hand-painted plank sign that said "2Fort". The wheels of her suitcase scattered a fine trail of dust that settled over her footprints.

As she neared the only other structure than the scattered abandoned barns on the horizon, she was shocked both at the size as well as the state of disrepair. One of the two forts (they weren't much more than their name) was all wood and rust, with peeling red paint on silos, and worn weathervanes that swiveled reluctantly in the scant breeze. The other was faded blue steel siding and corrugated metal, crusted rivets and unstable rafters. Several telephone wires and poles spanned across the two buildings, but she was struck most by the tall fences that seemed to cut right through the buildings, chain links that sandwiched a sliver of the buildings, along with a covered bridge over the stagnant river, which was likewise boarded up.

"That's a stupid place to put fences," she grumbled to herself, feeling her expectations plummet. "Who the hell engineered this terrible architecture?"

She jumped as a voice barked at her from above. "STAND and DELIVER, yeh maggot!" Craning her neck, she looked up past the fencing towards the roof, where a broad-shouldered man with a military helmet that covered his eyes was standing, hands behind his back.

"Uhm…hi, I'm Ceci-"

"I need your PROFESSION, maggot, not your NAME. NOBODY here needs to know your name." As he stared down at her (or so she supposed he was doing), his lips curled in a snarl. Ceely bit her lip.

"Uh. Engineer, sir." And she snapped to a salute with her free hand, since it seemed fitting. The red military man returned the salute with practiced efficiency, the grenades slung over his chest shaking slightly as he whipped his hand down.

"At ease, Private." She dropped her hand, feeling ridiculous. She was an engineer for a demolition company, not some soldier in the army.

But before she could ask him what he was doing here, she jumped again as somebody slammed into the fence in front of her. "'Ello there, laddie. Don't let ol' Solly bother ye," he slurred, squinting his one good eye at Ceely and poking his nose through a hole in the fence. "Cannae tell, but I think -hic- yer a wee bit short fer a new Scoot…" He took a deep swig from the amber bottle in his hand, sizing Ceely up.

Ceely's mind reeled. What the…it's a drunk Scottish black man with an eyepatch. And he thinks I'm a guy. She was pretty sure that a man so drunk shouldn't be allowed to contact any of the munitions he had strapped to his person. He caught her staring and gave her a wide grin, punctuated with a loud belch. God, I can smell him from here. She tried her best to take shallow breaths, backing away. "Look, uh, hey. I'm…uh, I'm looking for a place called Teufort. I'm supposed to be working as an engineer there."

"MAGGOT. This here fortress IS Two-Fort. Aren't you a bit on the scrawny side to be an engineer, Private?"

Ceely was about to retaliate, but the Scotsman interrupted with a loud snore as he slumped to the ground against the fence. Ceely looked down at him with disgust, but when she turned back to the roof, the helmeted man in red was gone. "Hello?" she called. The only reply was another snore. She frowned and tromped over to the sleeping man. "Mister? Hey, mister."

He snorted when she poked him, and blinked groggily at her. "'Ey, laddie…" He paused, squinting as Ceely pursed her lips. "Wait…lass? Yer a lass!" Immediately, he straightened, sagging against the fence. "What brings ye tae Teufort, then?"

"I'm supposed to be working here. I'm an engineer for RED." She bristled against his disapproving glance. "Really, man. Where am I supposed to go now?"

He grunted, and gulped down some more liquor. "Ach, prolly ower there. I'll open yeh for the gate...nah, the gate for yeh. Ole Scrumpy, givin' me tongue all knots." She followed him slowly as he dragged along the fence, and she was surprised when he ignored the padlocked gates completely and disappeared into right doorway of the complex behind the fence. Moments later, she heard the creak of a door, and he staggered out from the shadows of the large door labeled "Loading Dock" to her right. With one last glance upwards around the complex, Ceely pulled her suitcase up and followed the man inside.

The door swung shut heavily behind her.

The floorboards echoed as they walked along the complex, taking rights and lefts that left Ceely confused. But the man seemed very familiar with it all. "M'name's- well, Solly was right, I ken names'll do ye nae good, lass. So jus' call me Demo."

"Demo?"

"Short for demoman."

"Ah." Ceely furrowed her brow. It made sense for a demoman to work for RED. "So who was that other guy?"

"Thass our Soldier. 'E's a tad…touched." Demo gave a humorless bark of laughter, gesturing with his amber bottle. Ceely nodded, trying to focus more on remembering the path they were taking. It wasn't working.

They took another turn and ended up at a set of large double doors that transitioned into a well lit hallway, clean tile and whitewashed walls contrasting with the hay and lumber that she had seen so far. The short hallway opened up to a neat T, with a sign on the right that pointed to the barracks, and a sign to the left pointing to the mess hall and recreation. Ceely was feeling more uncomfortable by the second. "I think I'm in the wrong place. Shouldn't the barracks be…you know, for the army or whatever? I'm just an engineer."

Demo laughed heartily, spraying her with flecks of liquor and spit, but when she simply looked back at him nonplussed, his smile faded. "Aye, 'sbeen a while since we hadda lass in here, but ye ken tha job of Engineer'll see the field halfaday, even if yer not a fightin' one." Ceely furrowed her brow.

"I didn't sign up to fight. I signed up to be an engineer and build machines. I thought the war was over. What's this crap about fighting?"

A look of profound pity found its way to Demo's face despite his drunkenness. He thrust the bottle of liquor into her hands, sloshing a bit, and clapped her on the shoulder. "I'm thinkin' you'll be needin' Ole Scrumpy more'n meself, fer this first week. Yer room's tae the right, las' one on the left. 'S a bit smallish, but ye ken we weren't expectin' another person. Engie'll be tha room next tae yours, e'll show you tha base." He pushed her gently towards the barracks, and wandered off to the left, warbling off-tune and belching occasionally.

Ceely bit her lip and shoved her hands in the pockets of her baggy jeans, tilting her head as she reconstituted Demo's speech in her head. Oh lordy, it's gonna be another long day.

So there's a start. I tried very hard to not make this a mary sue. It's more of an intro character, but as part of my nonsuepreparation, I've written an extensive storyline and backstories for all the characters. Please let me know if there's any criticism or conceits to use or see more of. Reviews are appreciated.