All Offs On Mann Yards

"Thou shall not simply leave a Scout unattended, for the wrath you ignore, return it will and draw ignorance from upon thine sorry ass" - The ninth and last Team Fortress commandment no one begged to read.

Chapter 4

"Soldier."

Heavy knocked gently upon the door of Soldier's apartment.

"Who is it?" Soldier called mischievously.

"Heavy."

"Are you now?"

Heavy looked down at his feet, obscured by his big chest "Yes."

"Saaay, how about you come a little closer near this inconspicuous hole here?" Soldier said.

Incon - suspicious? Heavy thought, frowning, I do not understand this word.

The small door of the mail hole lingered, a couple grunts of pain and struggle escaped through the narrow opening as a malicious-looking hand squeezed its way out of it. "Put your neck around these harmless fingers."

Heavy looked at the twitch-happy appendages tickling the emptiness that was supposed to be his neck, and he deemed it confusing. "I will open door."

"Halt!" Soldier called "This is a trap door. The door you are about open is heavily armed - with MY arm - and if you dare and take and open it, I warn you that bones will break, and I will NOT tell whose bones those may be!"

Heavy mentally sighed, "Pull hand out then."

"I won't." Soldier said. "It's stuck. Stand ground, maggot! I'll have to suck it down."

Heavy frowned in confusion. He heard a couple quick footsteps that faded more and more out from the door. He furrowed his brows, as a motionless hand was still sticking out of the mail hole.

"Soldier?" Heavy called, but there was no response "I will open door." He called again, waited, and then proceeded to open the door.

Nothing audible as he entered. The room was pitch black and silent. Heavy's hand felt around for the light switch and conveniently enough it was placed right on the side of the worn-down wall. He turned it on and the room revealed a massacre - of cardboard. Cut-outs of unfamiliar soldiers on the floor, boxes of ammo lay scattered about, empty boxes too, a whole bunch of them, they smelled of vermin very heavily. The wall tapistry scratched and torn down, probably from struggling racoons soldier liked to use in his mundane activities, like cooking, cleaning or dishwashing.

It was a mess and the whereabouts of the Soldier were unknown, until his head popped up behind the door.

"A-ha!" Soldier exclaimed "It was a trap all along. That was not my real hand."

Heavy, peeked around to see Soldier holding a toilet plunger which suctioned an amputated hand waving in the air. He pointed at the gib curiously "Why do you have this hand?"

"Nevermind that. You completed my compatriot's test!" Soldier announced throwing his ex-hand to the mess on the floor, he placed his hands on Heavy's shoulders with a confident grin "You've entered my hide-out even though you were explicitly told not to do so. You would do anything regardless of the consequences. That is liberty. That is freedom. That - is America. I'm proud of you, son."

"Uhhm." Heavy's brow furrowed as he noticed Soldier's lips twitching noticably on his forced smile. He didn't pry, though. In fact he was more concerned about other matters. "Are you still blind?"

"Hell no. Doc told me to forget about it." Soldier said, and taking a moment, he fell into obedient oblivion. "Wait. What was I forgetting?"

"Alright." Heavy nodded. Looking around the apartment, It was just a clutter of boxes, trash cans, cardboard cut-outs and racoon scented smells. It suited Soldier well. "Soldier, I want to tell you story."

Soldier tilted his head for a beat but instantly put it into discipline "A war story!"

That was a command.

Heavy looked worried at his demanding tone, but he pondered on the notion, and then he nodded "Yes."

"I am in it!"

Heavy frowned "No, this uhh..."

"How am I not it in?" Soldier demanded, shaking a fist in front of Heavy's eyes. "Son, you haven't been in a war if you didn't see me down in the trenches. I was a-"

Heavy recollected and put open palms up in assurance "Wait! There is plenty of Soldiers there."

"Ha! I'm glad you remember." Soldier said victoriously "Cause I don't."

"I know." Heavy sighed in agreement "You don't remember much lately. But, I think if I tell you this story - you won't forget."

Soldier smiled wily. "Well, turn off the lights, comrade! This calls for a campfire."

Heavy knew there was an immense power inside the heart of a good story. A power that could shape thoughts, feelings, even lives. Although, he was not experienced in the art of storytelling. The only thing he knew how to talk about well was his first love - Sasha. When it came to talking about something different, he wasn't going into much depth, but today, he knew he had to try.

With the mention of fire, Pyro had accompanied the two mercenaries at the apartment. As if invited by will, Pyro brought a fair bunch of logs chopped in careful sophistication to make a meager campfire for storytelling purposes.

This was a common occurence whenever Soldier made preparations for a compelling war tale from his days of prowling across the trenches of the long forgotten wars. Wars many say that never happened, because they were so violent and criminal that the Aztecs wiped them out of everyone's memory with their amnesia nuke warheads.

Soldier was allegedly the only one capable of telling these wars. Though nowadays he barely remembered them himself.

Regardless, Pyro loved those kinds of stories. And whenever there came a time to hear one, the masked firebug would sit still, listening, engaged and fascinated. It felt different to see the pyromaniac in a different firelight, so calm and collected after knowing what mayhem the thing could bring in the battlements behind.

Heavy was a little nervous. Telling stories was a big responsibility. He found it hard to tell good stories in front of a crowd, and now The Pyro was being fifty percent of it.

'That thing'Heavy thought, inspecting the Pyro meticulously as it chuckled at the small fire, it reflected on the two windows for eyes of it's mask 'It has high standards.'

The Pyro playfully welcomed the cardboard cut-out friends beside to sit themselves - by axing off the parts below their waist.

A drop of sweat trickled down Heavy's brow 'If I fail, it will chase me, and I will scream, from endless pain, everywhere.'

A fate worse than hell. Still, Heavy was unsure. He never seen Pyro being unsatisfied to stories, but looking at Soldier, the solemn patriot did show signs of experiences better left unmentioned.
Heavy gulped with an attempt to diminish his anxiety. He sat sluggishly in front of the crackling logfire, hands clasped and elbows resting on his thighs.

The other two mercs sat together in front of him in patient excitement.

They held mugs labeled 'Coofee' in sloppy letters written with a fading marker. Soldier was holding two. He leaned over towards Heavy and offered one. Vapors of smoke risen from it with a festering smell of grinded and scratched racoon fur.

Heavy declined, shaking his head with a cough. The smell was so vile it caught in his throat, and made him almost forget his train of thought.

"Story time!" Soldier reminded, leaning back with the two mugs. He sat down beside Pyro, smiling to Heavy "That is an order, pal."

"Ah- Alright." Recollecting from his cough, The Heavy looked at the small campfire crackling in the humid air. His expression darkened. Shadows formed like plates around his eyes, a mask which grew faintly distant. The eyes looked taken aback, they rose up to face their fellow comrades tentatively.

"I am Heavy Weapons Guy..."

The Pyro stood up, hurling arms in the air. Muffles of stress and frustration, coupled with guilty wails of scorn and dissapointment.

"Flanks from overhead, private!" The Soldier snapped, he swooped behind, landing his hands onto the firebug's shoulders "We've been ambushed from all fronts. But I won't stand in an open field without an ace up my sleeve."

The Soldier, with swift precision, grabbed the two 'Coofee' mugs from the floor, he held them up into a cliffhanging angle, opening his mouth with an attempt to contaminate his internal organs.

"Wait!" Heavy's large hands slapped both of the mugs cleanly off of Soldier's grip, and they shattered to pieces as they collided with the floor. Racoon fur dissipating in the air.

Pyro looked at the one remaining mug still sitting near the campfire, and lunged laboriously , diving into it's direction. Heavy's kick smashed it clean, shattering it to the closest wall. All of the scratched fur remains were so light that they were evaporating, yet were still visible from the light of fire. They danced and sparkled as they faded, following the smoke of the campfire through an open window at the end of the room.

"We've been defeated, boy." Soldier exasperated, a frown on his lips, dissapointment in his voice. "Let's deal with this loss in glory and valor."

Pyro sprinted towards the open window.

"TACTICAL RETREEEEEEAAAAT!" Soldier yelled following after the determined firebug.

"PODOZSCHDYITE!" Heavy called, hurling himself to stop them both. His tiny legs were not as fast though, and the two mercenaries managed to leap through the window without any hindrances slowing their escape.

The Heavy yelled. He blasted through the wall, exposing a monstrous hole where once the innocent window stood.

'So there are things...' The Heavy thought 'even that thing fears.'

The Pyro and The Soldier layed at bay on a once-gentle field of grass, where the collapsed Heavy held both of them sluggishly around his arms. Fighting forcefully in vain, the two mercs tried everything to shove the weight of Heavy's two bone-breaking lumbers for limbs down. Behind them, the hole of the apartment walls ranked a good thirty feet above, smoke and racoon dust dissipating out from it. Shatters of bricks, wood and glass spread upon the three struggling mercs, and some bones felt definitely cracked.

The three coughed out dust in pain as they fought over the debris covering the ground, and eventually, after having some pierce their skin and break their bones, they realized it would be less painful to hear what Heavy had to say.

"This will be different story." The large russian informed them, tugging both of the mercs closer to his side, which removed any hints of already fading struggle.

"Information we could have used FIVE MINUTES AGO!" Soldier yelped as Heavy's arm almost crushed his ribs. The Russian was quiet on purpose as they struggled, that was their punishment.

Heavy gazed up at the star-sprinkled sky, glints of nostalgia in his eyes. "Do you ever know, why they call me Heavy Weapons Guy?"

"Who calls you that?" Soldier stirred in painful grunts, trying desperately to fidget out of the clutching arm that kept squeezing him reflexively, "Don't listen to those maggots! You're a wonderful spine-cracker too."

Pyro muffled a similar response of agreement, crawling uncomfortably in the grip.

"There was time..." Heavy started "When I was not known as Heavy Weapons Guy."

Pyro looked up and cooed in interest, to a beginning of an unfamiliar story.

"Say, that sounds different." Soldier said, cracking a few ribs to find a more comfortable position in Heavy's embrace. Finally, after a few adjustments by carefully squishing some broken bone pieces down his colon, he relaxed. "I can die now."

"I was known as little coward baby boy..."

"I was weak and small, and fat and stupid. I was also very bad runner. I could run forever, yes. But I run always into trouble. One day I run into father. He was fighting rebel soldiers over enemy border. I do not know how I run here. But the last thing I remembered, was hearing my sister scream. I never heard such thing in my entire life. It scared me. So I found father. He said to me: Heavy, you are a brave boy, but I need you to protect mother, she is pregnant. I say mother is not pregnant any more, and father laughed. Later, I realize, this cry I feared, was just baby cry, and I never run to father again."

Soldier stroked his chin with much thought.

"You understand this?" Heavy asked.

Soldier nodded and stroked his chin. "You're afraid of babies."

"No."

"Soldiers."

"No."

"Infantry."

"No."

"Family issues."

"No."

"Familiar issues."

"No."

"Familiar infantry."

"No."

Pyro stared at Heavy and Soldier as they exchanged words that muddled into incomprehensible blabber. Pyro screamed, a muffled scream that stopped them both.

They stared for a moment and Heavy looked at Soldier.

"If you think there is something wrong with you." Heavy explained "It is nothing, almost every time. That is what I try to say."

Soldier nodded. He looked genuinely confused, but one thing seemed to be very clear to him "I am not blind?"

Heavy looked over and smiled. Soldier just did not remember, he doesn't know anything, but the look in his eyes. It was as if Soldier really wanted to remember.

Heavy recalled the start of all this. When Soldier began to be as oblivious of his environment as a blind person. From that very start he was near his apartment. And Doctor kept him in his room so he would not get worse by dying over and over in the battlefield. But what if him staying in his apartment...

Heavy looked at the racoon fur remnants soaring to the moonlit sky.

"You are not."

He squeezed Soldier more tightly. Spine cracking for the last time. When he gets back, Soldier will remember everything, whether he liked it or not. But probably, seeing his last breath had a calming, almost manic smile, Heavy knew that Soldier won't mind.

"I can't believe zhis." Medic cried "All I wanted was a group of singers roleplaying as nurses for a week or two. Was that too much to ask?!"

He trodded left and right as he spoke with Miss Pauling over the phone. Searching for Scout's whereabouts, but moreover sulking about the fact of his missing hospital staff.

The Spy sighed "This is not the time to grieve over lost fetishes, Docteur. We have to find Scout before he destroys more innocent people's careers."

"It's MEINE clinic!" Medic pleaded, to the phone and to Spy both.

"Innocent people like us?" Demo asked looking at Spy, but then he shrugged "Bah, raeight. We don't have careers. I'm off."

"Where?" Spy demanded, inhaling his cigarette a tad longer.

"Playing golf with Sniper." Demo said, "Lad's probably losing his patience."

"I'd like to see a day where that idiot jarmonger gets all trembly from lost anticipation." Spy commented.

"Eh you knoe him here." Demo shrugged "He likes spending time efficiently on his day's off."

"Do me a favor." Spy said "When you get there count the number of piss he had accumulated while waiting on your drunken meandering."

Demo furrowed his brow, but nodded, turning back and stumbling over a dead bird.

"Farewell." Spy said, "You were useless anyway."

"Aye." Demo raised his arm in goodbye, his back straightened with determination, though his legs told a different tale, tripping drunkenly towards the hills with greener pastures, where the soil wasn't plagued by dead birds and agitated fools.

As the Scotsman managed to climb his first hill, he toppled over another bird and slumped on the once neatly cut grass field, now a feathery carcass filled dove cemetery. The winds picked up and lifted the cloth of his kilt westward. It waved in the air, revealing the sleeping Scotsman's underwear, or a lack of it thereof. His nether regions were censored by a piece of paper which had a sloppily-drawn smiley face.

"Idiot." Spy said. "It's past midnight."

Sniper put his tenth jarate on his third stack of jarate filled jars. He looked at the night sky, some kind of smoke dissipated across the view of the moon. It came from the apartments.

Probably another one of Soldier's racoon mixtures, he tasted some of them on his last visit, as he tried to ask Soldier about blindspotting, the skill he named that perfectly summarizes the intrinsic spacial awareness Soldier was a master of. He even tried one of Soldier's helmet, it was just like he thought, a large blindfold, a dull wall for both eyes. Yet somehow, it served Soldier as if he didn't have it on.

Perhaps he could see a little from the bottom view, which would mean Soldier only identified people by the types of shoes they wore, friends and foes. Sniper tried to pull at least some advice from the blindspotter, but the only thing he was left with was a vermin-like taste in his throat he had to wash down with natural substances - like water.

Soldier was clueless, perhaps that was the trick. Perhaps the racoons had something to do with it. Whatever it was, up to this point, Sniper only managed to kill one target while blindfolded, Archimedes. Unfortunately that dove was the least challenging target. He'd accidentally kill Archimedes every day, it takes no thinking, sometimes he just steps on him.

Something was wrong with that bird. Archimedes was not initially that suicidal, he liked to get into people's guts, but as days went on, the bird kept eerily killing itself, on purpose or not, it was scary.

The war made everyone a bit mad. Sniper however, was not affected, he kept practicing his shooting by wearing a blindfold.

Looking over at the thirty stacks of jarate he made, Sniper frowned.

"I'm all out of jars." He said to himself, pursing his lips, nodding.

Demo's probably coming soon. Sniper would need those put in the van for further use. He slurped on his coffee, and it filled his bladder instantly. Jarate was an art Sniper was proud to master, the other mercs, they wouldn't understand. But practicing this kind of skill that gave you battle advantage was not a waste of kidneys. Demo on the other hand, was not wasting his kidneys either.

His alcoholism usage proved a good opportunity to shoot people who thought they had an easy target. Scout was like that too, though it was more of his stupidity that gave him longer runs.

A figure toppled over on the far right hill, it was Demoman. He wore his traditional Scottish kilt for golfing and balancing tenacity. Though the balance was more of a good luck charm than an actual physical atrribute.

"Sniper!" The Scotsman called across the lush field.

The Sniper watched him laying on the hill "Ye?"

"Help me!"

Sniper cursed some australian gibberish as he entered his camper van. He drived up the Demoman's hill, and another man was standing next to him, The Spy. Sniper parked beside the drunk Scotsman, the man was snoring, not even fifteen seconds and the cyclops fell asleep.

He looked at Spy. "Smokes?"

"Pissmonger?" Spy replied.

"I'm asking if you have a cigarette, you bloody-"

A cigarette flicked to Sniper's nose. He catched it. "Thanks. . ."

Spy didn't say anything as he looked towards the Sniper's hill, stacks of jarate idling on the lush grass.

". . . wanker."

"Have you seen, Scout?" Spy said.

"Yeah," Sniper grumbled, reaching to his pockets for a lighter "He went somewhere with the nurses."

Spy's eyes widened, his cigarette blazed.

Another cigarette flicked towards Sniper, burning his cheek.

"Oi! Bloody hell!"

"And you did nothing?!"

"What?"

"You knew he was getting away-"

"He said he talked to you" Sniper snapped "And you said that he can go."

"I did no such-"

"He said you scared the nurses, because you stink of tobacco, and your suit is cheap."

"Motherf* ! # "

A breeze swept through the fields, The Medic's arguing continued in the background, and Sniper lit his cigarette with his lighter.

"I tried to stop him." Sniper mumbled "But the nurses wouldn't let me."

"The nurses."

"Yeah."

"Was he dressed as one of them?"

"Ye." Sniper inhaled "I'm going for a piss."

Spy's left cheek twitched in disgust. Sniper whistled something off-tune while getting out behind the camper van. The hum of the breeze was accompanied by a light clappering of urine on grass. The Demoman snored.

Spy reached to his disguise kit and frowned

The Scout decieved me.

He looked at The Scout's picture and tried to recall what occured to his eyes when meeting with the nurses.

Breasts. Spy figured, I always start by looking at breasts.

Spy slipped beside the company of nurses at the exit gate of Mann Yards.

"Maidemoselles." Spy said "Leaving so early this afternoon?"

The nurses exchanged looks and tittered.

"Hell yeah we are." One of them said, a beautiful-

Spy gagged, and he gagged again, trying not to retch by grasping his mouth.

Only the devil could fool a man that he was not a nurse, the devil himself. Spy coughed, a dry and retching cough, it made the Sniper pop up behind his van.

"You alrigh'?"

Spy stood bent, hands on his knees, smirking in disbelief.

Sniper scratched his head by slightly lifting his hat "I know you're sick of me and my piss and all but. . . bloody hell, you look like you're going to puke."

Spy straightened, taking a cigarette from the satchel of his disguise kit which he quickly snapped shut. He was smirking madly and looked very distant. More distant than the jars of piss Sniper left on the hill.

"He fooled me."

"Ye?" Sniper said. "Could have fooled me too."

"What do you mean?"

"Had a good pair of knockers. Fit him just right."

"Alright. Let's not talk."

"Righ'. . ." Sniper threw a lighter to Spies face, the french hand snatched it like a snake catching it's prey

"Wanker."

The breeze hummed a tad stronger. The Spy flicked the lighter's wheel, the flame ignited, but it blew off, he flicked once more, the wind blew it off again, he flicked and he flicked. A blazing fire.

Pyro greeted the mercs with a cheerful mumble, switching off the flamethrower. The cigarette was lit. Spy's mask and hand were scorched and dark, but the cigarette was lit.

"Thanks."

Pyro laughed. The Heavy followed behind the firebug, climbing up the hill and greeting the mercs with a nod.

"How did ya find us?" Sniper asked, hands on hips.

"Pyro knows." Heavy said, glancing at the masked merc who now fawned over Demoman's butt. Pyro heaved up the kilt.

"Dammnit Pyro, don't burn that!" Engineer called, puffing behind Heavy as he ran up the hill. Engineer was the only one who could communicate with Pyro and it's shenanigans.

"That paper is the only thing standing between everyone here and a painful memory."

Pyro watched the smiley face drawing, it's attention was dragged behind. The gloved hand let the kilt free, as Pyro skipped down the hill, towards Medic's clinic.

"Why is Doctor sad?" Heavy pointed.

The mercs looked down at the Medic sitting in the lit pavement of the lobby entrance, the phone hanged beside, and dead birds lay everywhere.

Pyro started the flamethrower, scorching them one by one cheerfuly. The Medic didn't care, he sat and watched the white tiled floor, defeated.

"His nurses took off." Sniper said, drawing some of his cigarette. He puffed smoke as he coughed.

"Heh, Sniper, you don't smoke." Engineer said, shaking his head as he patted Sniper's back. He wore a beige cap with a 'Mann Co.' logo on top, which he used to scatter the smoke away.

"No but. . . I just remembered" Sniper started, the last of his cough "Scout looks good in a nurse's outfit let me tell ya."

Spy coughed smoke and choked, Engineer skipped towards the frenchman and patted his back too, laughing.

"You saw Scout?" Heavy asked.

"Y- Yes." Spy said as he threw a glance at the smiling Texan next to him "He got away."

"Darn." Engineer responded, sarcastically.

"He was good?" Heavy asked.

Spy nodded, "He ran away with the nurses before we could catch him."

"I mean . . . " Heavy nodded to Sniper "Scout was good looking?"

Spy spat tobacco as Sniper looked to Heavy and nodded, inhaling his cigarette.

"Sniper, what's wrong with you?" Spy demanded.

"I'm just sayin' " Sniper shrugged "Scout'd be pretty good looking if he was a sheila."

Heavy put a a fist on his chin, pondering on the thought.

Engineer covered his mouth thoughtfully as well.

"You are all disgusting." Spy said, recalling the disguised scout. He even looked attractive from behin-

Spy gagged.

"Welp." Engineer chuckled "I guess all of us would look good if we we're ladies, ain't that right?"

Heavy crossed his arms, with closed eyes and furrowed brow, he looked very thoughtful.

"Da." He nodded.

"Right. That's what I'm saying" Sniper agreed, throwing off his dud cigarette.

"Well then it's safe to say that even Scout would look good as a lady." Engineer said, "Ain't that right, Spy?"

"You can put logic into any immeasurable picture of stupidity." Spy said, straightening his tie and cleansing his suit "Congratulations."

The Doctor emerged from the fiery field of dove carcasses, flames in the reflection of his glasses, he climbed up towards the hill with balled fists and a scorching stench of schnitzels and chicken. His coat flapped menacingly in the wind. Frown filled with scorn.

"We will find Scout." He said through grit teeth. "If it's the last thing we do."

The mercs, taken aback, inspected The Medic and questioned no further. They nodded hesitantly one by one. Demoman snored. You never question your doctor. Never in this case.

"Pyro." Medic called.

Pyro skipped close with a bundle of roasted doves on it's side belt.

"Scout." Medic said.

The arsonist looked at the other mercs, their eyes reflecting flames of the field. Pyro chuckled.

"Miss Pauling." The Administrator's distorted voice called through the speaker. "Have you tracked down the Boston boy."

"Yes, administrator." Miss Pauling said. "But there was an issue."

"What issue?"

"His team are after him as well, administrator."

"The fools know where he went?"

"No." Miss Pauling said "They went over the gate by disguising theirselves as nurses. An hour later we found them lost in a jungle."

"What jungle?"

"An unexplored jungle, m'am. A place not found in any modern map of the world."

The speaker buzzed for a couple seconds as the Administrator paused "How did you find them?"

"Apparently, The Soldier knew about it, m'am."

". . ."

"Administrator?"

"Miss Pauling. . ." An agitated voice, breathed in heavily and puffed "Let's focus on the Scout for now."

"I'm on my way to where Scout was last seen, m'am, and I sent Mr. Hale to pick up the others on his second helicopter."

"I don't want to know what happened to the first one."

"Alright, m'am."

Silence.

"Did Hale take one of those giant white gorillas on it?"

"Yes m'am."

"That's enough for today Miss Pauling." The speaker clicked.

"So you're not mad?" Scout asked.

Pauling sighed and looked at half-naked Scout. His briefs had pictures of hearts and baseballs sprinkled across them.

"That I'm bald and can't fight?" Scout continued eyes concerned.

"No Scout, I already knew you were bald and. . ." She shook her head with a sigh "Can't fight."

"Oh? Oh yeah right, right. . . So uhm. . ." Scout nodded and looked down while scratching the back of his neck. He beamed up, "Nice place you have he-"

"Scout hurry up and get dressed."

"Okay, Miss Pauling." Scout said obediently. "You're really not mad?"

Miss Pauling pursed her lips and shrugged "Mad? Why would I be mad that you know the exact place where I work, I mean, that's-"

She sighed. "Where are your clothes, Scout?"

"Let's see. . ." Scout opened a wardrobe. "I know I left my hotdog costume somewhere in here."

"Hot-dog costume!?"

"Yeah remember when Demo got you drunk and-"

"Scout just put something on and let's go."

"Okay, Miss Pauling."