„Bill!"
A woman in her late fourties was stomping madly around the apartment located in the south of Boston, Massachusetts. She was wearing a pale red dress, cut just above the knees, and scarlet high heels, which gave out a loud clack every time she furiously stepped on the old, dusty floorboards.
"Bill!"
Her surprisingly youthful face had taken a strange expression, her eyebrows meeting in the middle almost entirely, and a small vein popping out in the middle of her forehead. Her cheeks were flushed and burning, as well as the chaos inside her brain, boiling and letting all the anger out of her system, only managing to be calm enough not to start breaking the furniture. Her lips were pressed together tightly, but opened up as wide as a cave on occasion, every time she let out a mad shriek, her tone stinging the air like a scorpion. As she did, another blue vein jumps out of her delicate neck. She would take exactly three steps towards the door to cool off, before repeating the process again.
"BILL!"
-"What?"
A young man was leaning on the small grey door. He was loosely holding an aluminum baseball bat in his right arm, lazily closing the door until they click with his left one. He looked at the woman standing in front of him, resembling an enraged bull. He scratched his short brown hair to prolong the silence, and flashed a smile just to irritate her.
-"Hey, Ma!" he said, flashing his slightly crooked teeth.
-"You've been playing baseball again."
The man looked at the baseball bat he held in his arm. He smirked.
-"What gave me away?"
-„Don't be a little smartass, Bill. If I told you once, I told you a thousand times."
Bill threw the bat in the air a bit, catching it in midair. It now stood up straight in his hand. He admired it for a moment. Such fine craftmansip, such delicate, yet brutal force.
-"Aw, come on, Ma! It's just a hobby. 'Sides, I might go pro some day. Ya never know."
His mother sighed. Sometimes, she just couldn't understand the stupidity of her son.
-"You quit college to do something worthwhile with your life…"
Bill groaned and tossed his head back. Not this conversation again! Not now, he just got home!
-"Baseball isn't going to help you in life, Bill!"
-"It helped me get into freakin' college! What more do ya want?"
-"Which you quit after a year. The entire scholarship… gone to waste."
The Bostonian started walking around the living room, trying to escape from this talk. This had been the fourth time they've had it this week. And it was only Thursday! He threw his bat on the old leather sofa, tattered a bit, but still surprisingly well kempt. An old cream rug covered the cold floor of the apartment, somehow making the room more homely. It was the room in which Bill and his brothers would sit around arguing, playing with their toys and watch cartoons on the big square television set, the biggest one in the neighborhood bought by his dad's alimony check, while Ma was in the kitchen, baking chocolate chip cookies. The room was covered in a thin layer of dust, which no one would quite get off no matter how hard they tried. A small cloud of dust lifted as the bat hit the sofa. Bill fell lifelessly in an old armchair, letting his arms fall to the side and touch the old coffee table next to it. On it stood a single cracked coffee cup, as old as the apartment. In fact, everything around him was old, and he hated it. And every day he spent in it, with his constantly nagging mother, he seemed to hate it slightly more. He still loved the smell of cocoa and the electric smell of the TV, he still loved his room, filled with his baseball trophies, and he still loved his Ma. However, in the end, there is just that much nagging and constant criticism anyone can take. He seemed to hear a lot of it during the past three months, since he left college. At first they had an impact on him, but now they were just white noise. Just like today.
"Okay, then," he said, uninterestedly;"lay it on me."
His mother pulled a small chair in front of him. She sat on it, slouching slightly. Her anger turned into melancholy, knowing that whatever she said would just fly past him. Still, she wouldn't consider herself a good mother unless she tried.
"I really think that you are just wasting your life away. Baseball won't help you in life."
Bill scoffed.
"Are you even listenin' to me? I. Won. A. Freakin'. Scholarship, godammit!"
-"You just got lucky. You had a chance to learn something that can help you in life! No one could make a living out of baseball alone!
-"Oh yeah? Mickey Mantle, Don Sutton, Tony Perez…"
-"All exceptions that prove a rule. You aren't ten years old anymore, Bill. You have to learn to use opportunities, and not rely on the one thing you're good at for everything in life…"
-"Woah! One thing? Ma, unless you haven't noticed, I am good at pretty much everything!"
-"Oh, here we go again…"
Bill stood up, clutching his fists.
-"Right, here we go again." He began walking half nervously around the room, his mother sitting still.
"You know damn well that I may be the best son you evah had! I mean, Kyle is in jail, Steve went to Africa to get some Nigerian rhino hookers or summin, and, a-and no one else even attempted college."
-"Yet three of your brothers now make a few hundred a week." His mother didn't raise her voice. Bill, however, has."
-"Look, I give you credit for Dave, but Clark is a no-good cheating bastard, and Steve uses his car dealership as a cover for his brothel!"
-"But he treats the girls so nicely. He paid for Cookie's glasses, and Cinnamon's final year of film school. Hear that, Bill? Hookers manage to finish schools."
Bill threw his arms up.
"Okay, fine! Why are you so worked up over this? You didn't pay for anything! In fact, you never pay for anything!" He started ticking his head from side to side, over pronouncing the word "every""
"Every week, you get a big check, and every time, you say it's from my dad which I never met. And every time you get it, you spend it on everything you need, and then you put everything that's left in the bank. And then you get your money again. And then you complain about me wasting money which I got for my exquisite talent. And it's like that. Every. Single. Day. The thing is, you nevah worked a day in your life. And now you give me shit, because…"
-"Don't you take that tone with me, young man!" She pinched the base of her nose with her thumb and index finger. "I wish your father were here to stab some sense into you!"
And at that very moment, she had an idea.
"You know what? Just because I don't work, doesn't mean you shouldn't. You disappointed me, and now you're going to pay. Literally."
Bill looked puzzled. His mother leaned forward, looking straight at him.
"You are going to pay me your scholarship. 40.000 $ in cash." She leaned back. "I suggest you start looking for a job. With your current education, you should be able to pay me back at my funeral… Or at your funeral. Depending on how much time you take looking for it."
Bill couldn't believe it.
"Ma, you serious? Ma, I… I can't pay you back the money you never had to start with."
-"That cash was as good as mine. The moment you popped out of my vagina, all of your belongings became mine!" She stood up and walked in the kitchen. "I expect you to start paying up. Or else, you're out of this house."
Bill was in the tiny bathroom, brushing his teeth. The bathroom seemed smaller than before, even when he and his brothers were constantly pushing each other to get in. In fact, the whole apartment seemed smaller. His mother didn't say a word at dinner, even though he tried to talk her out of her ridiculous proposal. No matter how many times his mom yelled, punched, or punished his brothers and himself, he found her scariest when she made up her mind about something, and then stood her ground, not even considering compromise. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He seemed tired. His eyes couldn't focus on anything, and just stared blankly, without actually acknowledging anything. He didn't bother to wash out the toothpaste on the corner of his mouth. He thumped his head against the mirror. He couldn't understand that he was now in dept. He couldn't understand his Ma. The entire thing was confusing, mostly because he had no idea what the hell he was going to do next. He stood like that, listening to "Stand By Me" playing on the small bathroom radio above the bathtub. It soon stopped, and a friendly female voice came on.
Are you looking for a fresh start? A place where your skills can become useful? Are you looking for a well-paid job?
Bill twitched. What…what did she just say?
Would you like to make your friends and family proud? Praise you for your accomplishments?
Bill spat in the sink. "Yes…"
Would you consider a career with flexible hours and a long vacation period?
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, what about the money?" Bill shouted at the radio.
Would you like to join our Mann Co. family?
"HOW DO I GET THE MONEY YA DUMB BITCH?"
Then join the Reliable Excavation and Demolition! Pick up the phone and dial 0800-444...
Bill couldn't believe it. The answer to his prayers. Right before his very ears. It was like a dream come true.
568...
„Wait! Wait!" Bill shouted at the radio. He was looking for a pen, a piece of chalk, anything to write with... He went through the medicine cabinet, tossing around a few bottles of Valium and band-aids. He felt around the cupboard, then made his way to the drawer under the sink. He rummaged through the toothpaste and towels, cursing as he did. And there he saw it: a lipstick. Coral No. 2 lipstic his mother used. He opened it, and looked desperately for a clear surface. His gaze fell upon the mirror. The mirror! He started writing on it in quick, slightly smudged strokes. 0800-444... Shit.
412- RED. Bill wrote down the final digits, but failed to remember the middle three. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit! He knew miracles never happened to him.
To join Builders League United, please dial...
Bill listened carefully. Is this another corporation? The numbers are similar, but… wait a minute… they are identical!
…444- 568-412- BLU. Blu? The last one was Red. Maybe they were different branches or something. He looked at the dirty mirror, pleased by what he had done. But now he was facing a dilemma… Red or Blu? How different can they actually be? Builders… Reliable… Red was about demolition, right? So it's probably about construction? He didn't have much experience with it, so… But there was money involved, after all. Aw, screw it, demolition is fun! I'll go with Red! He ran to the kitchen and dialed the number on the phone, checking the number on the mirror seen behind the wide opened door. A woman picked up the phone. It was the same woman from the radio.
"Hello! Are you interested in joining RED?"
-"Umm… yeah… sure."
-"Alright, Sir. Please state your name."
-"Umm… Bill… Bill Morrison."
-"Bill… Morrison…" Bill could hear clicking on a typewriter. It went on for a while.
"Congratulations, Sir! You're in our database." Database? What database? Suddenly, Bill wasn't so sure about this.-
"Does… does that mean I get the job?"
-"That means we're going to run a small background check. We will alert you if we consider hiring you. Have a nice day, Sir."
-"Wait… How… How much would I get paid?" The phone line went dead. At that moment, Bill thought that he had made a big mistake. A hundred questions ran through his head. How will he explain the lipstick on the mirror? Is the money worth this suspense? Who are these people? How would he even do this job?
Perfectly. He would do it perfectly because he is awesome and needs the money.
He fell asleep with that thought in mind. Strangely enough, he didn't remember getting into bed that night…
Bill woke up quite late that morning. As he always did. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. As he always did. He walked up to his dresser. As he always did. He opened the drawer, half blinded from his sleep. As he always did. Inside he found two guns, ammo, and a red shirt with dog tags on it, the word "Scout" written in broad letters. As he always…wait, what?
"What the…?" He looked around. As the sleep evaporated from his eyes, he noticed that he wasn't in his room. It was a grey room, filled with metal cupboards and a dozen first aid kits in the corner. His bed was against the wall, covered with a dark red sheet. There was a small mahogany study desk next to the drawer. On it was a baseball cap, sneakers, and a large white phone. He couldn't move for a while. Was he kidnapped? Kidnappers wouldn't put him in a room with guns, would they? But if he wasn't kidnapped, why was he here? Suddenly, he missed his apartment. He missed his mom. He turned as he heard the door knob turn. The door opened with a squeak. Outside there was a young lady, perhaps a few years older than him, holding a clip board.
„Good morning, Bill."
A pretty woman standing in a strange bedroom, wishing you good morning, could mean only one thing to any guy. However, Bill was never in this situation, so he had no idea what that thing meant. Her voice was familiar. He wanted to ask her so many questions, but could only manage to pronounce a few unlinked words.
„I, umm, hey...what...how, who... metal, Scout... umm... how much am I... hi."
Bill leaned casualy on his desk, only to fall awkwardly, for he has misinterpreted the height of it. The woman cleared her throat.
„I am...pleased..." she bit her lip for a moment, „to announce that we have decided to hire you at RED."
Bill was sitting on the floor, his mouth hanging on one side.
„Ha?"
The woman helped him up. She was wearing a short purple dress, and large glasses, much like elderly people have. Her short black hair was put up neatly in a bun. For some reason, Bill knew that he could trust her, for now. He smiled as he got back on his feet.
"I'm… I'm hired?"
-"Yes, Sir. We ran several tests, and you fall into the few exceptional candidates that we wanted to hire." Her eye twitched as she said that, but Bill didn't notice it.
-"Can I ask you's a question?
-"Of course."
-"Kay, umm… what exactly… would I be doing?"
The woman searched her mind for the appropriate words.
-"Weapon testing and various missions to expand our company territory." Bill stared at her.
-"Is this a military thing?" He seemed genuinely concerned.
-"Don't worry, Sir. This operation is perfectly safe."
-By safe, what do you…"
-"You won't die, Sir." That relaxed him. A little. Sort of.
-"But I will fight, rite?"
-"Yes, Sir. But everything is well planned out to ensure your safety. You see, Reliable Excavation and Demolition was first established by…" Bill put his hand up.
-"Yeah, yeah, yeah… I don't need to hear no history lecture. Still… this has nothing to do with excavation or building or stuff?"
-"Well, I wouldn't say that… but, it's mostly demolition in your case." Bill was not pleased with the situation.
-"Umm… I'm not sure if I want to take this job." The woman looked at him. She pulled out a check.
-"This would be your original salary. You would earn more with experience." Bill took the check in his small hands… and nearly fainted. So many zeros! He… he could pay off his Ma by the end of the week! There is no comma, is there? No. Just money. So much money! He forgot everything wrong with this situation. He could barely speak. And if it all goes well, he would have some money to spare. And, if it really was safe…
-"Of course, Sir… If you aren't sure about joining us…"
-"No!" He panicked; "I mean yes! I mean… well, shit! Just hire me, already!" The woman gave him a piece of paper to sign a few times. He was so excited he could barely hold a pencil.
"Congratulations." She saluted him. "You are now a class in The Team Fortress Operation."
-"Scout, is it?" Bill guessed. The woman smiled.
-"Yes, Sir. We have provided you with a uniform. Put it on and accompany me outside for further information."
The uniform wasn't really that bad. It was just something comfortable. Plain slacks, a T-shirt, a backpack for his weapons, dog tags and sneakers. He put on his black baseball cap and his earpiece. He went outside, where the woman, who finally presented herself as Miss Pauling, was waiting. She seemed a bit tired. She was hunting for candidates all day. She led Scout down a large hallway, echoing as they walked. She led him to a room marked "Resupply room" where his teammates were waiting.
-"So… how many of us are there?"
-"There will be seven other men in your team." She said, looking straight forward.
-"So, eight of us?"
-"Yes. Eight men." They walked in awkward silence. Scout remembered something else that he wanted to ask her.
-"What kinda tests did ya do on me?"
-"Physical and mental tests. You were exceptional in one category."
-"Oh, like what? Strength? Intelligence? Stamina?" He came up close to her, his voice taking a suggestive tone.
"Endurance?"
-"Speed." She said with a devilish smile. "You are the fastest."
Scout got a disappointed frown, but soon realized that they were talking about running, and not the other thing.
-"'Course I am." Miss Pauling realized that they were coming close to the room.
-"I'm sure you will fit in with the other guinea pigs just fine."
-"Guinea pigs?" Scout was irritated.
-"Candidates. I said candidates." Miss Pauling bit her bottom lip, an unconscious habit she had, which manifested itself whenever she lied.
"Well, here we are." The door was large and snowy white, bolted shut. Pauling put in a pass code, and the bolts came loose one by one, sounding like a beautiful mechanical symphony. She noticed that Scout was scared.
-"Don't worry, Bill. I'm sure you will be just fine." Scout smiled. Miss Pauling felt a sharp pain in her bottom lip.
He entered the room. Pauling suggested that he should fraternize with his teammates. He looked at them. A suited man smoking a cigarette. A man in a hardhat tuning his guitar. A drunk man, clinging to a bottle of Scrumpy like a small child clings to its security blanket. Scout didn't want to talk to them. Something else was on his mind. He saw a phone in the corner. He carefully walked past the men, and took out a couple of quarters. He dialed the phone, and he heard ringing. He phoned his Ma.
-"H- Hello?" His mother answered. He knew that she was crying. Scout stood up stoically, with a poker face, so his teammates wouldn't know who he talked to.
-"Hey, It's me." She screamed so hard into the phone he had to pull his head away.
-How dare you leave me without telling? How dare you run away! I was worried sick about you! How dare you!" Scout managed to get a sentence in edgewise.
"I got a job."
Silence.
-"My baby is growing up. How did you find it?"
-"Oh, I heard and ad on the radio and decided to check it out." He lowered his voice. "Sorry about the mirror."
-"Oh, fuck the mirror, it'll wash right off. I'm so glad that you are OK! Listen, I may have overreacted. You can come home any time.
-"Actually, I'm coming home on Saturday to get my stuff. I signed a one year contract."
Silence.
-"Don't worry, I'll come back on weekends."
Silence.
-"I was wrong, Bill. You are responsible. You are the greatest son a mother could have."
-"Thanks." He tried to keep his voice calm, though he wanted to scream with pride.
-"What will you be doing?"
-"Mostly demolition."
-"Construction, huh? Be careful, sweetheart."
-"I will." -"What does it pay, a hundred a week?" Scout smiled with smugness.
-"Higher."
-"Two hundred?"
-"Higher."
-"Surely not 500?"
-"Higheeeeeer…" His teammates gave him a look which he ignored.
-"Wow. I… I think I have to sit down." His mom continued to ask him about the job, he answered her shortly and quickly.
"Yes. No. Eight. Six. RED. Yes. Yes. Pffft, no! Yes. OK. OK. Goodbye."
At the very end he bent closer to the wall and whispered; "I love you too, mommy." As he hung up, he prayed that no one had heard that. They did. The man smoking giggled like a silly schoolgirl. Scout pulled his hat over his face and walked to the other side of the room. He sat on a bench next to an Australian, cleaning a small jar with a rag.
"What are we waitin' for, anyway?" Scout asked.
-"You'll see…" The Aussie grinned before adding "momma's boy". Suddenly, a voice was heard from the speakers.
Mission begins in 60 seconds…
And Scout knew that something awesome was about to happen.
