Disclaimer: This chapter sucks. Seriously.
It was around 13:00 p.m. when the RED team waddled back into resupply room, goaning and moving single file. The Medic stood behind them, healing them post battle, causing them even more pain. A bullet in the gut felt better than having Medic close it up, your skin growing back and burning as it did. If anything, it was faster. The team stuck with it, imagining what it must be like for the poor doctor, who couldn't heal himself, almost completely hacked up and forced to heal others. His teammates thanked him, but he needed no thanks. He just needed a medipack.
„There. That should be alles."
His beady eyes looked at the Soldier who came in before the others, and now stood looking cross, silently judging his teammates. The Medic noticed a gaping hole in his leg, wounded by an enemy Heavy. The hole seemed deep and was painful to look at, yet the Soldier paid no mind to it.
"Vould you like a quick heal, Herr Soldier?" the Medic gestured to his ill condition.
"No thanks, Fritz. I'm fine on my own."
"Na gut." The Medic shrugged and walked up to the medicine cabinet. The team was sitting on a white bench, clutching their few unhealed wounds, that weren't life threatening, but were equally painful. Soldier looked at them in disgust. It was the first battle RED had with BLU. It was the first, and for most members hopefully the last, day of Payload season. Needless to say, it was a complete failure. Everyone was getting massacred and no one was pushing the cart. They have been on the field for six hours, pushing the cart slightly from each side. Near the end, each team was down to a single Heavy. They stood on each side of the cart, pushing it half an inch at a time, making it look like a game of retarded tug of war. The Administrator banged her head on the control board screaming at them.
"You had ONE job! ONE job!"
The RED Soldier was respawned for the third time today. He finally got past the nausea of being demolecularised, and put together in a matter of seconds like a billion piece puzzle. His head, however was pounding like there was a herd of ballet dancing elephants protruding his skull. And, yes, that is quite painful. And he will be damned if that happened again. He adjusted his helmet and ran to the battlefield. Much to his frustration, the cart wasn't moving. It was stuck in the middle between two overweight Russians. The BLU Spy was sapping a sentry nearby. It's the circle of sentries. Engie builds the sentry. Spy saps it. Pyro scorches Spy. The Pyro dies stupidly because of a sticky he accidentally stepped on. As the Demoman runs to push the cart, he gets killed by a freshly built sentry gun. Repeat.
And it was due to that repetitive process that neither team could win. The soldier picked up his rocket launcher. Not this time, crouton!
"Say hello to my little spy hating friend!"
As the rocket shot through the air, everyone could hear the atmosphere being ripped in two. It flew straight for the Spy, splitting everything in its path, until it blew the Frenchman into smithereens. The RED Engineer ran over to fix the sentry, laughing at the Spy, whose liver he was stepping in, as he crouched to band on it repeatedly with a wrench.
"Thanks, Sol!"
The Soldier muttered something and noticed another crisis. The Medic, who was in truly poor condition, ran around the field healing an unthankful Sniper. He is support, God damn it, what in America was he doing here?
The Sniper quickly made his way to the nearest sniping point, as if he read the Soldier's mind. However, the Medic now ran, defenseless. A RED Scout was running behind him, oddly not requesting Medic's help.
"Push the cart, you slacking maggot!"
Something was odd about this Scout. He could've sworn he just saw Scout running for his life, with barely any health left. It was never a good idea to put a boy on the team. Especially a boy who has never fought before. In his defense, this was the first mission both RED and BLU had. No one fought before like this. With maybe the possible exception of Soldiers and Spies. Spies…
The Soldier took out his shovel and ran to the confused Medic.
"Look out, Doc!"
He bashed the Frenchman mercilessly, and he immediately fell to the dusty ground. His eyes rolled in the back of his head as he lost all consciousness. The last thing he did was groan at the blood staining his suit. His own blood. The Medic stared at the Soldier determined to win this battle. He had just saved his life, and he didn't know how to react to it.
"Danke" he mumbled not taking his eyes of the burly American wondering about how someone should thank someone after being saved.
"Sorry, I don't speak Nazi."
With that brief statement the instructed the Medic to step back, as he pointed his rocket launcher to the ground. He jumped and let the thing fire off. And soon, he was flying in midair, shouting with joy and wondering where the hell that Boston kid is when you need him.
Meanwhile in the control room, The Administrator rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. She had a raging migraine, the kind she got from terrible candidates. She took a deep breath and instructed Pauling to get her a cup of coffee. Black. No cream and no sugar. The Administrator stared blankly onto the flashing screens, showing one laughable death after another. After six hours, watching them felt like hearing the same joke over and over again. Miss Pauling presented the Admin with her coffee.
"Pauling," she started after taking a short, loud sip and placing the cup on the control board; "Have I ever told you how much I hate recruitment season?"
"Yes, ma'm."
"Remind me to put a time limit on these missions. About ten minutes, or so." She took another sip, finishing the coffee and placing it on her chair's armrest. She then took out a thin, long cigarette and shoved it between her wrinkled lips. Miss Pauling ran to her quickly, taking a lighter out of her pocket and lighting the cig for her. A small puff of smoke filled the room as the Admin exhaled.
She looked at the RED Scout, hiding behind a building, in a fetal position, shivering. This was certainly not what he had expected. He was incredibly frightened. The Administrator looked at him as a dissapointment. She listened closely to get the feel of being in battle with them. She could hear bullets firing in the distance, but not what the members were saying. Maybe Engineer could fix the sound bug? Suddenly, her pupils widened, though not because of a caffeine rush, but because of surprise.
The RED Soldier fell from the sky, and landed in front of the Scout. The boy opened his mouth in shock, and the Admin knew that he was screaming. The Soldier rubbed his knee, which was injured from the sudden impact. He spoke to the scout. The Admin squinted at the slightly distorted picture. The Scout was shaking his head at the Soldier, who was probably persuading him to do something. The Soldier was already losing his patience. Suddenly, he pulled Scout by the collar and screamed something loudly in Scout's ear. Even the Administrator could hear some of it.
"Are you going to…or are…? Now, go over there, and…! Got, that, you… MAGGOT?"
The Scout rubbed his ears. His face then attained a devilish expression. He took his scattergun and ran off screen, laughing manically, as the Administrator supposed. After both of the characters were off screen, she switched to camera 47. Somehow, Soldier convinced the Pyro to start clearing the path for the cart. BLU Heavy's burning body lay lifelessly on the side of the track. The RED Heavy was still pushing the cart, but was now aided by the Scout, making the cart go forward for the first time in half an hour. The Soldier blew up any enemy that dared come in their way. It was as if he refused to die under any circumstance. Even after the respawned Heavy fired at his leg, making it difficult to walk, let alone fight, he still managed to blow his communist head off in a single perfect, shot. RED had a long way to go, but if they continued at this pace, they would be done by lunchtime. The Administrator was impressed.
"Miss Pauling," she said, her face forming an evil grin as she leaned forward, "have I ever told you how much I love recruitment season?"
"Yes, ma'm." Pauling bit her lip.
As the Administrator announced the RED's victory, everyone was overjoyed. Sadly, they were in such poor condition that their celebration was reduced to a hasty retreat to the resupply room, where they now sat, groaning and nursing their wounds. The Soldier, who was the only one standing, look at his team with a disapproving gaze. They… they were all maggots! Each and every one of them! He then knew it was his God given duty to train them.
"You all disgust me!" The Soldier marched in front of them.
"You are nothing but a pile of measly, America hating, communist, Nazi, snail eating, slacking, kangaroo screwing maggots!"
The Pyro laughed, its voice muffled by the optical mask.
"What are you laughing at, hippy?" spewed the Soldier.
Everyone went silent. Mostly because they wondered how the hell does Soldier know that Pyro is a hippy. During these six hours of fighting, that were mostly spent yelling at each other, they managed to figure out the classes, and nationalities of certain teammates due to their accents. Yet no one else dared to guess what that…thing…actually was. Truth be told, neither did Soldier, but he needed an insult. They sat in silence, waiting for another rant. Scout, however, was the first on to speak.
"Well, I dunno, guy. I mean… we were kinda good. We won, aftah all. The speaker lady said so, didn' she?"
"The only reason we won in the first place, was due to my immaculate battle strategy. You are a disgrace! You are a disgrace and you brought shame to America!"
The team didn't react to that.
"Now, now, Sol. The boy is onto somethin'. The BLU team actually ain't half bad for their first day. And if we managed to beat 'em…"
The Texan, unfortunately, didn't know that rationalizing with the Soldier is the last thing any man should do. Because, this was the point when the Soldier became really angry. His face tightened, somehow, making his neck look more vascular as he stretched it out. His face was red with rage, and to this day, Engie swore that he saw steam rushing out of Soldier's nose. He looked like an enraged bull, and his team was the wavy RED sheet. Not that color matters. The bulls tend to get irritated by the mere motion. And the Soldier was irritated by their mere existence. His yell was ear numbingly loud, and he didn't seem to breathe at all.
"Just because BLU is shit, it doesn't give you an excuse to be slightly better shit! In all my life I have never seen a team so miserable, so unnecessary, so utterly repulsive! You make me sick you maggots!"
His teammates went quiet, some even bowing their heads down in shame. The Spy was the only one not paying any attention to Soldier's rant. Instead, he examined the stain on his suit. He wasn't sure whose blood that was, but it will be a pain to take it out. Maybe he could kill himself and respawn with a clean suit. It would be nauseating, but it would be worth it. This is a thousand dollar suit, after all. Oh, God, is that idiot still talking?
The Soldier wasn't talking anymore. He now just stared at them with a piercing gaze, staring deep into their souls. It made each team member feel vulnerable and even Spy felt slightly uncomfortable. Their patriotic colleague then stepped back, not taking their eyes off them.
"Calling yourselves 'privates'…" he mocked them. He suddenly put his head down, looking at his crotch. He then started fidgeting around the belt area.
"These are privates!"
At that moment the entire team turned their heads, covering their eyes to protect their fragile sanity. Nobody needed to see that, they thought. Of all the things the Soldier could do… They all had their eyes shut tightly, not even letting a speck of light in. However, they could hear the Soldier's manly voice.
"You will never be these privates!"
At that very moment, Scout thought of an insult. It was so devilishly good, he had to say it. It wasn't appropriate at this very moment, but all the better.
"Well, Spoi's halfway there, 'cuz he's ahready a dick."
He felt like giving himself a round of applause, right there. Every ten year old in the universe would be proud. Spy seemed unmoved by this. He cleared his throat and made a remark, good enough for a twelve year old.
"At leest I 'ave a dick, you inconceivable, imbecile, rainbow fearing Bostonian."
"You see, French, dis is wah people ain't liking you that much. You see dat? Wah you ahways gotta be such a two-faced, backstabbin' joik?"
"Why don't you go complain about eet to your whore mothzer?"
The Scout turned red. If there was one thing he didn't let people talk about, it was his mother. His mother was a freakin' saint, how dare he? He clutched his fists, and was prepared for a big team kill."
"Oh, it is on!"
He tried rushing to the Spy, shoving Medic and Sniper along the way. They screamed in protest, but Scout didn't mind. He barely made it to the Spy, who was grinning with pleasure. Suddenly, to his utter horror, he realized that his eyes were open. And what he saw was…was…
Pretty unexpected.
"Ey look, goise, he ain't got his thing out!"
The team skeptically looked up to the Soldier. The boy was right. The Soldier was holding a photo of him with two of his army buddies, drinking on the border of Poland. He was in the middle, toasting the mustached man on his right, while the man on the left laughed at something, his head turned back and his mouth wide open. His army buddies. His privates.
The team went "oooooh" in realization and relief.
The Soldier turned the photo over to him. His voice became quieter. He had cooled off, but he seemed sadder than before. A nostalgic wave was running over him.
"You will never be these privates." He said to his team, but focusing his eyes on the old tattered picture. The team was quiet again. The Sniper and the Medic didn't move from the cold floor after being pushed down by Scout. The Sniper leaned over to the Medic, resting his elbows on the cold white tiles.
"Oi think it's kinda peculia' 'ow the Scout bloke looked at it first, roite?"
The Scout ignored this remark, while the German chuckled. Flipping him off quietly is the closest thing Bill could do, as he hasn't been to keen on ignoring remarks altogether. Still, he looked up at the mute Soldier, deep in thought.
Yes, Solly remembered his buddies quite well. Colonel Tom Mustard and Sergeant Albert Pepper. The best men he could find for his Nazi killing spree circa 1947. He didn't think about them in a while. Not before he found out that they had died, not more than two days ago. And their death was one of the reasons he joined RED.
"So, how exactly did they die?" asked Merasmus the Magician, while sweeping the floor of Soldier's and his dusty apartment. John Doe was sitting on the small dining room chair in his underwear, reading the fine print of Pepper's last will and testament, looking for something else he might have left him. He adjusted his helmet so he could read the small black letters.
"Merasmus, do you know those signs saying to keep your hands and feet inside the rollercoaster at all times?"
"Perhaps." The magician swept some of the dust under the aged rug the Soldier confiscated in Poland circa 1949.
"Well they got stabbed by a mugger right in front of it. Quick death. At least they died together. God bless 'em." John saluted the heavens.
Merasmus admired his fine work and corrected the positioning of the two fish heads hanging on his belt. He was a very old magician, but still had the strength to do chores his useless roommate couldn't. He focused his gaze upon the pile of dirty dishes accumulating around the kitchen/dining room/living room sink. It's usually John's job to clean them, but today, Merasmus kept quiet. He took out a vial of snake blood and three beads from his navy blue ritual robe. He popped the cap open and drank the blood, tossing the beads into the sink with one swift movement. John didn't mind the aquamarine beads whooshing over his head. Merasmus then spoke some voodoo gobbledygook, and soon, the dishes started washing themselves in mid air. As the beads clanged against the cheap plates, Merasmus inspected his hat; an Ox's skull which cost him quite a pretty penny at a garage sale in Oregon. He might have to polish it soon.
"How come they didn't invite you?"
"What?" The burly American screamed at him, dropping his helmet over his eyes.
"Well, what were they doing in the amusement park without you?"
"If my best army buddies want to go somewhere without me, that is their concern. I will not be mad at them." He inspected the will once more, and, again, found that all they left him was a golden bullet and a dozen K-type army rations.
"Communist doo-doo heads." he muttered.
"Ah!" Merasmus screeched upon realizing that the trash bin is overfilled. "I know that you are sad and all, but would it kill ya to take out the trash?"
John got up, but was still deep in thought. As deep in thought as John Doe could ever possibly be. He walked up to the bin, rummaging through the mostly papery contents of it. Many maggots have tried to shove silly advertisements down their throats. John would usually strangle the delivery boy, but the papers would remain. Still, occasionally, a bill would appear that they had to pay. The last time they didn't, the water was shut down for a month. Can you imagine living with a 300 year old magician who didn't shower? John couldn't take that chance again. So he pulled out about thirty sheets of paper and inspected them thoroughly, while talking to Merasmus, who sat on the floor, eating tomato soup from a can with his fingers.
"Still, we had fun, Pepper, Mustard and I. When we finally found Poland, that is…Water bill…It has been the best time of our lives. Fighting during the day, eating in the evening, and then visiting a few whore houses. Did you know those ladies don't shave? Their backs, I mean?" he shuddered;"That was un-American. Anyway…Take-out menu…There's not a day that goes by without me thinking about those glorious bastards…Heating bill…How I desperately miss the smell of blood and terror. How I miss the…Boobs and Ammo Monthly…I miss the thrill of fighting, you know? I think I should fight again, I really do. It would help me forget." He bobbed his head down.
"It would help." He stared sadly at the floor boards, when he noticed something interesting. It was a leaflet. On it was a woman dressed in a purple suit. She seemed quite old. Her thin, bony finger seemed to be pointing straight at the Soldier. I WANT YOU. Was written above her in bold red letters, and under her, there stood: TO JOIN RED. MAKE AMERICA PROUD.
John grinned. This was a very…convenient… surprise.
"Merasmus!" he exclaimed, making the poor magician spill cold soup over his robe; "I am going to war! Lock the house when I leave!"
He then ran to his bedroom, possibly to get dressed, humming The Ride of the Valkyries.
"It's about fucking time." commented Merasmus, and went to his bedroom/bathroom to clean himself off.
The Team Fortress Organization isn't that terrible at recruiting. They come at about seven p.m. to pick you up. They put you in a car and offer you a beverage. When you get there, the people from test your physical and mental abilities with a plethora of tests, starting with an IQ test, and ending in a cardio test, which involves a candidate to run on a treadmill strapped to the ceiling for twenty minutes. They only pick exceptional candidates. If you don't qualify, they erase your memory and bring you back home. If you are exceptional, they erase your memory and bring you to the base. Either way, you will have a bright light flashed before your eyes, leaving you to wake up about six hours later in either your house, or your sleeping quarters in the base, with a slight headache. The interesting thing about John Doe, is that he is the only one to remember his tests. This is due to the fact that, initially, he wasn't supposed to be chosen.
Two men in white overcoats and goggles dotting down their analysis on a table clipped on their clipboards was a daily scene during recruitment season. John Doe stood in front of them in a grey sweat suit, feeling dizzy from spending the last five hours of multiple choice tests, target practice, martial arts and synchronized swimming. A few suckers were stuck to his face, connecting him to the heart rate monitors. He managed to get most of them off, but still struggled with the ones on the back of his head. The two doctors exchanged concerned looks.
"How did I do, Docs?" asked John in the matter of a young child.
Doctor Laszlo gave John a white sterile rag to wipe his sweat off. He jolted his ballpoint against the paper a couple of times before he sighed with slight disappointment.
"What do you make of this, doctor Stein?" he asked in a strong Alaskan accent.
"Hmm…" Stein examined the sheet of paper before turning to John. He proceeded to talk in his nasal voice, emphasizing each syllable.
"Mister Doe, these tests that we ran all show that you are quite a capable man."
"Thanks, Doc." John tossed the rag aside, carelessly.
"However," Laszlo continued, "your intelligence is slightly sub-par. And your physical abilities, regardless of how formidable they might be, are unimposing."
"Eh?" John pulled a frown over his face. He couldn't understand what he had just heard, but he knew it wasn't good.
"Sadly, we hire only exceptional candidates. You are, in layman's terms, a jack of all trades. However, to join us, you need to be a master of at least one." His grey eyes went back to Doctor Stein. He nodded to him. John seemed puzzled as he watched the doctor walk away.
"So… am I hired?" Doctor Laszlo shook his head, clicking his tongue.
"I am very sorry, mister Doe." Doctor Stein appeared with a small black lamp and pointed it at John.
"I will need you to open your eyes." The doctors adjusted their goggles.
At that moment, John Doe realized something. This was probably his last chance to accomplish anything. If he died right there on the spot, the only thing he would leave behind would be some canned soup and an annoying roommate. No. He wouldn't let that happen to him. He wanted to be a hero once again. He wasn't treated like a guinea pig for hours just to forget everything. He pulled out the last sucker from his head and pushed Laszlo to the ground. He yelled in pain. John grabbed his dark tinted goggles from his head, tussling Laszlo's blonde hair and pulling his nose upwards, until he looked like a squealing pig. Before Doctor Stein could realize what was going on, John jumped up in the air and kicked him in the head, breaking his nose in the process. The tiny lamp flew into the sky. John lifted his arm up to catch it, when Doctor Stein pulled his sleeve, holding his bleeding nose with his other hand. John loosely put on Laszlo's protective goggles over his eyes and pressed the small red button on the lamp. The safety glasses were completely safe, but John closed his eyes, just in case, as the bright light lit up the laboratory. He then ran off to the exit, leaving the two doctors to lay on the floor, confused and bruised. He then took off the goggles, and tossed the lamp behind him. It humorously hit Doctor Stein on the head and bounced off, thankfully not going off again. Stein murmured something before he passed out.
"We are so fired."
John ran as fast as his legs could carry him down the hall. He was surprised at how little security this building had. He didn't know that he, and his future teammates, would later become the actual security. Suddenly, he saw a large door. It was painted purple, with the words "The Administrator" written on it in gold. He began to run faster, pressing his arms against his body to embrace for the sudden impact. In about a second, his massive body smashed the wooden door, landing on the floor. He got up and wiped off his bleeding lip, spewing out a couple of splinters. He propped himself up and barely managed to make a step forward. In front of him was a mahogany desk. The woman from the flyer was sitting at it, using her coffee cup as an ashtray. A younger woman with big glasses stood behind her. She looked frightened, but the older woman, with the big white cloud of hair surrounding her wrinkly face, just seemed mad.
"What is the meaning of this?" she spewed.
"Are you the woman in charge of this?" John ignored her question.
"I am." She said, sucking on her cigarette.
"I'll call security." Said the younger woman, slowly making her way to the phone on the other side of the room. John didn't try to stop her.
"I want to be on the team." he said simply. The older woman lifted her eyebrow. She put her elbows on her desk, scanning him with her eyes.
"Pauling," she addressed the young woman; "don't call security just yet."
Pauling obeyed, though she wasn't happy about it.
The old hag picked up a stack of papers from her desk and browsed them. When she found the one she was looking for, she read it carefully, ticking the ashes of her cigarette into her cup.
"Mr. Doe." she spoke.
"You were rejected as our candidate."
"With all due respect, madam, those doctors don't know shit! I am the best candidate for the whatever job I applied for."
"Do you even know what this job is about?"
"Serving America. And what better way to serve America then to fight! So, madam, I came here because I want to fight!"
"How do you even know this job requires fighting?" she questioned.
"Every job requires fighting!" Mr. Doe was determined.
"Whenever there is a hippy on the loose, I personally bash his face in. That is fighting for decency! Whenever there is a job to apply for, men fight for it. That is a fight for survival! Whenever fighting is sure to result in victory, then we must fight! That is a fight for… victory!"
The Administrator stared at him blankly.
"Are you saying our "tests" didn't give us out?"
John looked confused. The Administrator leaned back in her chair.
"Mr. Doe. I assure you that you are the stupidest person I have ever met in my entire life. I doubt there is a person denser than you on the entire planet."
She stared at him for a brief second.
"You're hired."
"What?" Pauling and John shouted in unison.
"I have a hunch." the Administrator explained while lighting her cigarette.
"Thank you ma'm. Now, about my conditions…"
"The Administrator almost choked on her cancer stick.
"Conditions, Mr. Doe?"
"I require a raised salary for being unnecessarily rejected by those idiots you call the medical staff."
"You will get a decreased salary for destruction of private property." she rebutted.
"Well then… I require a suit of armor."
"You will get the helmet you came in here with."
John was losing his patience.
"Well then I…I…" He suddenly spotted something. Something so beautifully primitive that she had to comply.
"I want that shovel!"
The Admin looked at the shovel. It was dropped there by the former Soldier. It was old and beginning to rust. She had no idea what it was doing there, but she remembered using it to dig up a shallow grave for her last assistant after giving her sweetened coffee. She almost laughed at her own senility. She would, actually, if she were capable of laughing.
"That shovel? That shovel is an important memorabilia."
"That is my condition and I stand by it." John crossed his arms tightly.
"You can have it if we cut 200 dollars off your weekly salary."
"How about a 100?"
"Two hundred."
"150?"
"Two hundred."
"Two hundred?"
"Two hundred."
"Three hundred and that's my final offer!"
"Done." The Admin said, huffing her cigarette.
And that is how the Soldier got his 15600$ shovel. He happily slid out the gaping hole in the door, leaving Pauling and The Administrator alone. The Admin looked at Pauling's frightened expression.
"You question my judgment."
"No, ma'm!" insisted Pauling; "I think you know exactly what you're doing!"
"You don't think I was right, hiring him like that?"
"No, no, no! You know what's best for the company." Pauling turned beet red.
"You're lying."
"Absolutely not! I agree with you and I respect your decision m…m…ma'm."
The Admin leaned forward in her chair.
"Pauling…" she raised her eyebrows at her young assistant.
"Your lip is bleeding."
Soldier returned to reality. He has been on the team for one day, and already they had one win. The resupply room emptied out while he was reminiscing. He sat on the white bench with a loud sigh. He looked at the picture one final time. God, were they happy back then. He felt a strange sense of melancholy clouding over him, so he didn't even notice the Engineer leaving a few of his tools. This was supposed to make things easier, but maybe it took more time than a day. Either way, those glorious privates of his were now shooting Nazis in heaven. If heaven has Nazis. Of course it has, but they're used for target practice. He saluted the sky once more. Meanwhile, the Engie looked at him, thinking about the irony of this situation. The Soldier, who joined to connect with the things dear and familiar to him, on the same team as the Engie, who joined RED to get away from things dear and familiar to him.
What strange irony…
