There were scorch marks and blood splatters all around a large barn-like red room, the stark reminders of an earlier intense firefight or that of a mass execution. Not too long before there were yells and screams of pain and death when men in blue began killing off those helpless to do anything as a means to add insult to the injury that they had suffered. The awkward silence filled the room for an extended period of time, and was finally broken by a young man.
"Coast's clear fellas," the Boston accented man said.
Suddenly the deserted room sprang to life as a grand total of nine men, all dressed in red, came out of various hiding spots and congregated to the center of the room. Physically, all of these men were fine, one or two had some bullet wounds that could be tended to, but psychologically they were devastated: they had just suffered a defeat, thus allowing their enemies to do as they wished to them in a process known as 'humiliation'.
"A defeat!" a military soldier similar to the blue soldier of earlier in his early 40's exclaimed, "I cannot believe that we let those maggots defeat us!"
"Those bladdy pikers caught us with that charge."
This man, a rugged looking Australian in his prime, had a outdoor vest over his red shirt, a hat, and aviator sunglasses. He was bleeding slightly from an injury on his right arm, his left hand flowing with the blood in an attempt to stem the blood loss.
The man next to him, a Scottish of African descent, patted him on the back to try to console his comrade. "Twas me fault lads. Oi got distracted by their Pyro when oi was watching me sticky trap." The Scotsman was wearing a large near-bullet-proof vest with various grenades attached to it. A striking feature of this demolitions expert was a black eye patch over his left eye, his personal reminder of the dangers of mishandling explosives. "Oi shouldn't have let 'im git to me."
Abruptly cutting off anyone who wanted to console the Demoman, the Soldier made his frustration clear by hitting the wooden wall hard and shouting out as loudly as he could. His friends were all silenced by his outburst, and no-one attempted to make any noise louder than the Soldier's heavy breathing. He craned his head slowly towards the Demoman, his angered eyes visible.
The Scotsman swallowed hard and barced himself for the inevitable rant.
"You!" the Soldier exclaimed, jabbing his finger at the Demoman as if it were a sharp knife, "you let them get through! How could you not stop those BLU scums?"
The Sniper came to the Demo's assistance as he interjected that the Demoman wasn't the one to blame. The Frenchman in the group, who appeared much like the BLU spy from before but in a red suit and mask, spoke up.
"I agree, the intelligence was not under the Demoman's custody," he stated in a puff of smoke from his cigarette, "in fact, if I recall correctly, our fellow labourer was guarding it."
All eyes turned on the Texan. He had not been paying attention to the conversation at hand and was aimlessly staring at nothing in particular when he snapped back to reality. "Wut?" he asked.
The Soldier turned to him, his teeth gritting in anger. "You cowardin' Canadian!" he accused, completely forgetting about the Demoman, "why didn't your precious toys stop that hippie and kraut?"
Caught unawares from his deep thought, the Texan faltered before blurting out, "but I did kill 'em! If it wasn't for Py's help, I woulda not been able tah stop 'em."
Many looked to the Pyro, who nodded, speaking quickly in his mubmling voice about how he sacrificed himself to keep the Soldier distracted and leave the enemy Medic vulnerable. Few of his friends understood the jist of what he had said, but everyone now knew that the Texan was speaking the truth.
"Then how did that city boy over at BLU steal our intelligence?" the Soldier retorted.
"Their spah sapped mah nest and while I was killin' 'im, that Scout came in an' killed me!" the Texan cried out, his voice wavering unusually, "an' seein' nobody else was there to help me an' Py, we got robbed!"
He seemed on the verge of crying. No-one among the group had ever seen the soft and kind-hearted man in this state. If anyone would come close to a nervous breakdown, the Texan would probably be the least likely out of the nine men. Many exchanged worried looks, although the Spy, Soldier and Scout were not buying it.
"Wassa matter Engy, you gonna start cryin' on us?" the loud-mouthed Bostonian asked with a smug look.
Several heads snapped towards the Scout in response for the uncalled comment. It was true that the young man was hot air thus caring little for his friends. This time though, he was dangling close at the limit of his teammate's tolerance. However, the Spy added fuel to the fire:
"It seems highly strange, to me at least, that our labourer failed to chase the enemy courier once he respawned."
The Engineer was taken aback by the Spy's uncanny observation and hesitated to respond appropriately, but instead managed to do nothing more than stammer.
"Ya frickin' wuss!" the Scout called out, thrusting his own finger in the same fashion of the Soldier, "not only did ya let that BLU moron take the intel, but ya also let 'im get away! It's your fault we lost!"
"Now herr Scout-" the German Medic began, but was cut off by the Soldier, who shoved the Engineer to the wall, grabbing his shirt by the collar and lifted him up a foot or so. The Medic moved to intervene, but the Sniper held him back, shaking his head.
Sweating, confused and afraid, the Engineer tried to avoid direct eye contact with the Soldier's own piercing stare. In an unaturally low and threatining voice for the Soldier he whispered to the Engineer, charging every word with as much malice as he could.
"I gave you a simple job, Engy: defend the intel. But neither you nor your fancy machines could handle it. You failed your team and you will be punished for that. Now I'm a reasonable man Engy, so you will only be deprived of your food rations for the rest of the week. Four days. Do I make myself clear?"
The Engineer stared back as if he couldn't believe the words he had just heard.
"Bu-but if we're a team, y'all need to help me to do mah duties an'-"
The Engineer was punched squarely in the gut by the Soldier, allowing the Texan drop to the floor and curl into fetal position. Squatting by the ill-treated man, the Soldier yelled into his ear, "We are a team, toymaker! Everyone has their own task, and they get it done for the good of the team! I will not see you eat anything for the next four days, or so help me God, I will make sure that you will never respawn again!"
The remaining men kept their distance from the flinching Engineer as if they would be treated the same if they got any closer. Slowly, one by one, they left the room until only the Medic, Sniper and Engineer were left. The Medic approached the laid up Texan and asked "are you able to stand up?" to which the Engineer nodded and did so albeit shakily.
Prodding the Engineer's chest with his finger and observing his patient's reaction, he stated "zat madman seems to have caused quite zee internal hemorrhaging. You'd better come vith me to zee infirmary." Turning towards the Sniper and his bleeding arm he added "und you as well herr Sniper."
"Dun worry about me Doc," the Aussie replied, "I've had worse, an' Truckie seem's like he needs the rest more than me."
The Medic waved off the Sniper and insisted, "nein, zat bullet wound needs to be treated properly und quickly to prevent any infections. You're coming along as well."
And with that he led both men away to get treated, and while on the way to the infirmary he was growing more concerned at the Engineer's abnormal silence. It couldn't be the internal bleeding, he thought to himself, and got the nagging suspicion that his patient's pain wasn't necessarily limited to the physical injuries but mental as well. The Engineer's condition was much worse than the doctor had originally believed upon his first diagnosis.
And he was worried it would only get worse.
