AN: This is the same story as the previous one I abandoned four years ago. I felt it was best to start fresh as this isn't the quite same story plotwise I formulated in my head all those years ago, but it's still one that I want to pen down. But yes. Same author. Same premise. I cannot promise regular updates at all due to a number of factors, but consider this a pet project that I'll dedicate time to when I have it.

I am proceeding without a beta. Any criticism in the comments is much appreciated.

Thanks,

Q. Uirk

Chapter One

There are many kinds of stories in this world, but not all of them are worth hearing. In fact, some should never be told at all, but be assured knowing that this is a story worth hearing. And like most stories worth hearing, it begins rather mundanely. It isn't a story that is mundane for you or me; Our lives pale in comparison to the lives of the people I'm going to tell you about.

In nineteen-sixty-eight, eighteen people arrived at a lonely base in the middle of the American Southwest, and life wasn't ever the same again. They were mercenaries, each one well versed in a specific skill and talented at being different from the rest of society. They were poor, insane, disadvantaged, outcast, and desperate; they were exploitable, and they were hired to fight each other – day in, day out – as the sun would rise and set on the unchanged desert landscape. The ones I'm going to tell you about are a soldier and a medic, but for now, let's start with the misadventures of a spy.

It had been a number of months since they were first hired, but the RED spy already knew he was better versed in subtler hands of deception than the kind TFI used him for. Backstabs were a dime a dozen, and the repetitive gruel of each day made Spy lazy. You see, Spy had a better answer for this war than the idle shooting he was forced to perpetuate. But there will be plenty of time to belabor over the the mysterious intricacies of the RED spy later on in disgusting detail. For now he found himself caught in between yet another battle against the BLUs.

As if the redundancy of Gravel Pit's heat had finally and unquenchably burrowed under their skin, the rest of the RED team shuffled their feet and infrequently fidgeted with their weapons. The BLUs hadn't solidified their strategy yet, so it meant that they could drag their shoes through the gritty sand. Short but intense periods of gunfire staccatoed the air here or there and everywhere, and the BLUs fell back; nothing ever changed. Except for today; today had changed. It was getting late in the battle, and BLU hadn't managed to rush one single point yet.

Within their concrete tunnels, the BLU team's shouts and pants echoed chaotically. A clump of bloodied bodies were gathered around a dispenser as dying groans for "Medic" lingered unfullfilled in the stagnant air. For all their muscle, they couldn't keep a man alive for more than thirty seconds now. The engineer worried at his machine; the wrench contact sounded soft at times when a teammate's body would get in the way. His jaw was clenched, but he said nothing.

"Medic!" suddenly pierced the air ferociously, wildly, angrily. Nobody so much as glanced at Soldier as he uncupped his hands from around his mouth. The medic did not come.

"Pathetic," he grunted along with a choice curse or two before he retreated down the BLU tunnels and headed away from his team. Where was the medic?

RED's medic was holding up his gun dutifully and oddly cheerfully when RED Spy passed by them cloaked. He paid them little mind; he was attuned to the field and the dangers of stray bullets catching at his feet, so he hurried along. The ground was always hard enough that sand would not kick up behind, which he was grateful for today, more than any other day, because he was in a hurry today.

Spy had a meeting of some importance, which was why he was shirking off battle to loiter in a small dark tunnel between capture points – where, hopefully, someone was waiting for him in turn. When he entered the gaping maw of the tunnel, Spy inserted one finger under his collar and tugged, as though he were letting the air out of himself. It was his way of physically and mentally adjusting himself for his meeting, which he felt very prepared for, but as he walked around the overhanging wall of the tunnel and saw what – or more precisely who – was waiting for him, he had several questions.

One question was "Where is the BLU Spy?" The other question, you can formulate for yourself.

If there should have been anyone hiding in a tunnel during the midst of battle, why it should have been BLU's absent medic wasn't readily apparent.