The mercs had met each other the day before, at Mann Co. headquarters. Each of them were brought to the base in a bus, except for Sniper, who insisted on driving in his van, following the bus.

At the front of the bus sat the never-shutting-up Scout, chatting with Miss Pauling who, judging by her body language, was quite annoyed by it but still continued to answer the kid.

A bit farther, half asleep, the Demoman was communicating (one cannot call it "talking" for it was impossible to decipher the sounds coming out of his mouth) to his bottle of "scrumpy". On the next row, a man whose face was half hidden under a military-like helmet sat, back upright, looking to the seat in front of him, not moving a muscle. Soldier looked as if he was having some sort of staring contest with the back of the seat in front of him. Then, two men exchanged laughs. One playing tricks with a lighter, face hidden behind what looked like a gas mask and the other laughing heartily, under his hard yellow construction hat. Pyro and Engineer were having fun and that made Heavy smile.

The scent of cigar smoke came to Heavy's nose and, turning his head behind him to see where it was coming from, he realised a man in a suit was sitting behind him. He hadn't seen him enter the bus, nor had he seen him at Mann Co. headquarters. His face was in a mask though one could see his light blue, almost grey eyes and his thin lips. The man sure did not want to speak to Heavy as when he met the Russian man's glance, he turned his head quickly to the window, sighed and stared at the scenery. This must be the Spy Miss Pauling talked about the previous day.

Where this base is is surely in the middle of nowhere, Heavy thought. The more they rode, the more desertic the landscape was. It reminded Heavy of Siberia although this time, it was not an ice desert but rather a dust one.

Finally, in a corner was sitting a man with a white labcoat. The Medic. Easy enough to spot. He seemed lost in thought, his mind absorbed in the book he was reading. From where the Heavy was sitting, it was easy to read the title. "The Art of Lobotomy". Heavy gulped, his eyebrows raised. That man has weird litterary preferences. But Heavy wouldn't judge him for that. After all, with his PhD in Russian litterature, he knew almost too well that some books would make you travel to other worlds whereas others, even if they described foreign fantastic places, wouldn't not touch your heart at all. He personnally loved French litterature, especially 19th century authors. His mind escaped to the thought of his younger days, at University. Well, he liked it there. He enjoyed the lectures, some more than others. And he liked his friends at the boxing club. That's where he trained and learned lots about others and himself. His mind came back to reality and he began looking at the medical man longer and more intensely. Looking at his hair, Heavy saw that they were black except on his temples where the age of the doctor would betray his young and fair skin. A thin black lock of hair was falling on his forehead. His eyes were light blue though not as cold as the Spy's. They were hidden behind a thin pair of spectacles. His nose was thin and his jaw very masculine. Overall, he was a very handsome man Heavy thought to himself.

Shaking his head as if to shake away some thoughts, Heavy turned back and asked the masked Spy for the time.

"It is past seven o'clock mon ami."

"Thank you."

Well, he was beginning to feel hungry and now he knew why.

- Author's note -

Hi guys, I'm new around here and I loved some of the work I read here and there on this website. So I thought to myself "why not contribute?"!

Please feel free to correct my English if it's not correct or awkward (it's my 3rd language and I'm not fluent yet).

Thanks :)