A gunshot rang loudly within the rock circle, instantly followed by a second one. Medic collapsed to the ground, a blood pooling around his head.

With another gunshot, the Soldier jerked and fell across the Scout's lifeless body. A neat little hole an inch above the bridge of his nose mirrored the wound of his teammate.

Only now the rest of the BLU team collected themselves. All three men dove into the nearest cover and showered everything in the direction of the enemy gunman with bullets. The sniper didn't seem to be bothered, though, and kept landing a shot after shot all over their positions too close for the BLUs' comfort, preventing them from leaving their hiding spots.

The Demoman carefully peaked from around the corner of the house that shielded him. He was sure he spotted a flash from the enemy's rifle, and even if he was wrong, a couple of grenades send in the bastard's direction couldn't hurt. Not his team, at least. And it will be an act of mercy to send this poor lone RED to the rest of his squad.

With a wave of the hand, he caught the attention of their Pyro, and gestured him to distract the sniper. His teammate nodded and changed his position, pretending he's trying to move forward. The marksman immediately shifted his focus, which allowed the Demoman to take a good aim at the presumptive sniper nest. Yes, he was right. There it was, the long barrel reflecting the sunlight, and what appeared to be a part of the shoulder. The BLU grinned.

"Gotcha!"

A long, sleek blade slipped into his back with a sickening squelch, made its way between the Demoman's ribs and buried straight to his heart. The man's body arched back and the grenade launcher fell out of his hands. With a gurgle and a blood spurting out of his mouth, the BLU slid to the feet of his killer; feet wearing shoes absurdly expensive and somewhat impractical for the desert terrain.

"'Gotcha' indeed," grimaced the RED Spy and nonchalantly put a bullet right between the lenses of the Pyro's mask. He then rushed to the corpse and appropriated one of the thermite grenades the deceased arsonist was so fond of.

The BLU Heavy barely had the time to recognize the small cylindrical object that landed on his cover right before his world turned into white-hot hell. A muffled bang was followed by an inhuman scream and a figure covered in flames that darted from behind the stack of containers, howling and trashing about in a hopeless attempt to extinguish the all-consuming heat for a few seconds, before it collapsed into the burning pile of a melting tissue and gear.

If this unappealing show affected Spy in any way, emotions didn't reach his collected exterior. He signalled to his teammate the area is clear and hurried to the Medic's still form. He knelt down beside the body and breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed his chest moves. He gently shook his comrade's shoulder.

"Docteur?"

Medic opened his eyes only to shoot Spy a reproving look. "I'm fairly certain I forbid you to leave the sickbay just yet."

The masked man chuckled and stepped over him to untie his hands. "Would you rather if I'd stayed there indeed?" he teased Medic while helping him to sit up.

"Not really," admitted the doctor and raised his hand to the deep gash on his temple that kept bleeding quite a lot. Spy took a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it on the wound.

Hasty footsteps were heard approaching, and soon after Sniper appeared from behind one of the buildings; a stocky, dark-skinned man with a rifle slung over one of his shoulder and a medicinal bag he came across on his way there over the other. If there ever was a picture of heartiness, his face couldn't be farther from it. He dropped the bag to Medic's feet and snapped at him: "You've got a lot more luck than you deserve, you damn bastard!"

Medic looked up at him, astounded. "Was?"

"I'm afraid your excellent corpse impersonation was a bit too convincing for our poor Sniper's taste," explained Spy and fished a package of bandages out of the bag.

He refrained from describing a short yet intense argument he had with the marksman not five minutes ago, when he tried to persuade him to take a shot at the BLU Scout. Sniper hesitated, (rightfully) afraid his death spasm can cause the youth to pull the trigger all the same, urging his teammate to take some action himself.

It took Spy a significant effort to explain to Sniper he's the only one of them who can do something in time – if he will shoot the Scout, Medic may die, but if he won't do it, their comrade will die for sure. Eventually, Sniper took the risk and spent the whole combat worried sick his fear came true. Judging by his expression, it will cost Medic a good number of drinks before Sniper will deign to grant the doctor his full forgiveness.

Medic gave a small laugh. "I apologize then. I didn't mean to scare you. I just wasn't too keen about being finished off in the last second." He hissed and winced when Spy pressed on his wound some more. "I have to admit I didn't expect to get out of this alive at all. Danke, Kameraden."

"De rien. We have lost too many already to let you die as well."

The RED trio looked around the courtyard. While they managed to defend the control point, the prize they paid was too high for them to feel victorious despite the revenge they wreaked on the BLU. No amount of slain enemies could bring their teammates back to life.

Spy's gaze stopped on the remains of Engineer, then dropped to the ground. Sniper patted him on the shoulder. He knew the two men shared a bond as close to the friendship as mercenaries were able to form in this world where men came and went so fast it was pointless to remember their real names, and felt for him.

His teammate thanked him with a weak smile. It was always nice to see that regardless the life ruled by the law of the jungle they were able to retain at least some humanity

Medic mumbled something.

"Come again, pal?"

"We were too late," the doctor repeated quietly. His voice quavered with guilt.

"I'm afraid it wouldn't make any difference," sighed Spy. "You can't perform miracles."

"I wish I could."

"Don't we all? Just be glad we made it here in time."

Medic didn't answer. He felt that if nothing else, Demoman's death was his fault. He should have been more careful and properly check the area first to make sure the BLUs are indeed gone, instead of blindly risking their lives for a pile of corpses.

A couple of minutes of stifling silence later, Medic's head finally ceased to bleed. It was about time; the amount of blood the injured man was losing was concerning. Their base was over two miles away, they had no mobile vehicle at their disposal, and Medic was a bit too heavy for Spy and Sniper to carry him that far.

Spy carefully pushed aside a few strands of dark hair to inspect the wound. In the gory break of the skin gleamed a white surface of the skull. Spy whistled. "Merde… Sniper was right. You are lucky."

"I know."

Instead of looking at him, Medic focused his eyes on the small dent in the concrete near his foot, where the bullet from the Scout's pistol ended up after grazing his temple. Had the youth didn't jerk when Sniper shot him, the bullet would have gone straight to the Medic's head.

While he mused how fast would have his brain shut down after being pierced by a piece of metal, Spy bandaged his wound and took Medic under the arm.

"Very well, docteur, up we go."

Spy wasn't sure if it was the cause of his own injury that left him bedridden for over the last two weeks, or if Medic somehow put on more weight in the meantime, but without Sniper's help he would have never been able to pull the doctor up.

Medic's vision blurred and he nearly blacked out. What was merely a bearable sickness as long as he was sitting on the ground abruptly turned into a nausea the moment he got on his feet. He barely had the time to turn away before his stomach decided to evacuate all of its content.

Spy caught him by the shoulder to keep him upright and patiently waited until his teammate had nothing left to vomit.

"Better?"

Medic grumbled something that didn't sound exactly polite. He had a trouble to catch his breath and when he reached for the flask to rinse his mouth, his hand was shaking so badly he missed a few times before he was able to take a gulp.

"You think you can walk?" Sniper asked with a visible concern, observing his comrade's pale, sweaty face.

"Ja… just a moment mal, bitte." Medic leaned against the container and pressed his hand against his forehead to ease the painful throbbing in his skull. "Also, would one of you mind to search the BLU Demoman? Der Schweinehund took my gun and I'd like to have it back."

The pistol was soon found and returned to its rightful owner, who then decided the worst of his dizziness passed and he is willing to start the way back to the base.

"What about them?" Sniper gestured to the dead REDs. "We can't leave them like that."

"Non, but we need to take care of the living first," Spy frowned. "And we better get back before Scout wakes up. He's annoying enough when he's not freaking out. Also, someone will have to inform monsieur Redmond he should start to look for some new men..."