A/N: Welcome back. The following chapters I wrote might be considered funny at times. Don't let this fool you, it does get darker. And, according to me, tragedy is just a joke you don't laugh at.

Enjoy.

It has been eight months since the first patient caught the mind-altering virus. The first one of over a quarter of a billion people infected. And already, the infected have been growing in numbers, spreading the virus to over a thousand people each day. It started with one man, one young man whose RNK fused with the Australium and created a strange beast. This concoction made him strong, ruthless and what could be defined as criminally insane. With no control over his own actions, he began causing havoc all over the city. His deeds were small, almost meaningless, in the range of vandalistic pranks. Fire hydrants torn from the ground, stop signs bent and cars turned over. Some witnesses say that the man had the appearance of a troll; slouching and dragging his skinny arms behind him like ragdolls. His teeth were sharp, and saliva dripped down them as the creature growled, demanding something in its own, bizarre language. His eyes were empty and yellowish, small red circles surrounding the pupils, as if they had been drenched in pure blood.

Another lunatic escaped from the asylum, some thought. The people ran to their houses as fast as humanly possible. Though they were faster than this creature, some were not observant enough to escape him. His bites would leave them with swollen contusions, about as dark as Satan's heart, if it had one. Some would bandage the wounds, which would later drip uncontrollably. The residue was a form of gummy and bloodied puss that traced a green trail over the synthetic bandages. The men went to various hospitals to have their wounds examined. The doctors did not have a clue what they were dealing with. No amount of alcohol could clean the wounds, and the poison couldn't be extracted; for it had already entered the victim's nervous system seconds upon insertion.

The vile beast that started the pandemic was brutally killed, and its body burned at the stake. Never had there been so many men, spitting at the man's burning corpse as it disappeared into ashes and rising smoke. They came from all around, some arriving from the far corners of the land to see the beast that started the New Plague. It was the talk of the town.

Meanwhile, the man's victims succumbed to odd changes. First came the nausea, then the flashes of bright light that would leave them confused, disoriented, and often angry. Quite soon, they would lose all control over their actions. On the same day the man was burned at the stake made out of hawthorn, thirty men and woman became infected with the New Plague. And on that same week, the first thousand became ill. The numbers only spread, the country was starting to crumble, and the man's ashes weren't even cold yet.

For hours upon end, news reporters would go on and on about the dangers of being exposed to the men infected with the New Plague. The time it took for the complete transformation varied from three minutes to three weeks. Already, people grew wary of their friends and neighbors. Everyone looked for a safe house, a place with endless supplies and a shelter from their impending doom. The reporters would cover only the most gruesome stories. And at the same time when fear and mayhem thrived, something else thrived as well.

As the global news networks tried to warn people, to terrorize them, to fill their souls and minds with incomprehensible fear, the entertainment industry tried to fill the people's minds with something quite different.

Lies.

Full on, unadulterated lies.

Emily Payne was a big help with that.

It would start early in the morning. On a certain entertainment network, Emily's bright face would pop up occasionally. She always looked radiant, her golden hair curled, her face completely made-up and dressed up to the nines, at sixes and sevens with the news networks.

"Don't let those knuckleheads get the better of you, you hear? This day and age, all you need is a gun. All you need is a gun, a fine cocktail, and you're set for life," she chirped at her viewers.

Somehow, some people found comfort in what she was saying. They believed her, taking her every word as a dogma that shouldn't be tampered with. Some silly people actually believed that everything was alright. Some honestly believed that, if they went to bed that night, nothing horrible would happen by the time they got out of bed. And if something did happen, Emily Payne would rescue them. Her words of facile wisdom provided shelter from the outside world. Every word that came out of her lovely lips would be taken quite literally.

Just buy a gun, she would say, buy a gun and enjoy yourself. There is no need for gathering supplies. There is no danger. You are all safe, I assure you. We assure you.

The almighty we. Nobody knew quite what it meant. It could have been the royal we, or she could have possibly referred to the industry that put her on a treadmill, made her change from common singer to political marionette in seconds, because, "she just had that trustworthy face". Either way, she protected the public, somehow. They needed her. To some, she was their savior. She was the watchful protector, the hero the world deserved in its darkest hour. She was considered a very protective big sister.

It was such a pity that so many chose to ignore her, chose to be an only child. Such were the REDs.

They stared at the glaring television screen, Emily's soothing, cheery voice coming out slowly, carefully, saying her phrases in a manner slogans should be told, in order for the community to remember them. Pauling stood by the mercenaries' side, her eyes directed straight ahead, not looking at them, nor the television screen.

"We find all this fighting very distasteful. All you need is a gun. A gun from the good fellows at 'In Arm's Way"," she said. The company logo appeared underneath her round face. She smiled at the camera like a Cheshire cat. "But you don't need these weapons to fight the carriers of this supposed New Plague, oh, no, no, no, my darlings!" She shook her head and cackled. "You need to fight against the people spreading the rumors about it. Because that's all they are, darlings. Rumors." She leaned forward and smiled softly.

"It's not the Infected that kill people. It's the rioters that kill each other. There are no Infected. Those are just conspiracies. Shameless rumors, all of them! You are safe, darlings."

Her face disappeared off the screen and Miss Pauling cleared her throat as the image transformed itself into a small white dot.

"Of course, these are not rumors," she said, still not looking at the RED employers. "In fact, many people died due to the New Plague. The Infected are not to be taken lightly. And the New Plague is spreading far and wide, mostly across these parts."

"Good thing we're safe here, then," said the Sniper.

"That's where you're wrong," said Pauling. "Due to the increase in weapons production, this base will be shut down and be transformed into an arsenal."

A loud burst of protests filled the room, which Pauling silenced with a swift move of her right hand.

"However," she said, fixing her glasses; "We have reason to believe that this Infection is rather short-term."

"Short-term?!" Soldier snapped. "Patient Zero was eight months ago! How can this be short-term?!"

"Seriously, Paulers, dat's just stupid," Scout said, placing his tongue against his teeth. Pauling brought her eyebrows closer together.

"There are like ah billion Infected, lass! How da hell is this anythin' ta be joked around with?"

"Don't end a sentence with a preposition," Pauling said to the Demoman sternly. The Scot shook his head at her for not taking this seriously.

"Now, because of this, we will be sending you to another base. We have already sent your supplies there, including the ammunition you will need. You will need to travel to the destination yourselves, and-..."

This set off another howl of complaints. Most people died on the road. They would be safe as long as they had a place to stay in, but travelling often led to catastrophic consequences. Everybody knew this. Pauling managed to quiet them down, just barely.

"I know how you must feel, and I'm sorry that the organization cannot provide you with a proper vehicle."

The Sniper growled from underneath his brown panama. He already knew that he would have to transport his colleagues and himself in his van, and he was not entirely thrilled about the idea. Pauling continued;

"But we will be sending you to the most ideal place for dwelling in during the peak of the New Plague. Hopefully, the whole issue will blow over in a snap, and you will return here to perform your duties as hired mercenaries. Until then, the Team Fortress Organization will have to make place for other, more crucial operations."

The room seemed incredibly dark at that point. All that could be heard was the slow, melancholic pendulum swinging from the wall clock.

"Hopefully zhis von't last long, huh?" Medic said through an exhale that was supposed to come out as a laugh. Pauling nodded at the German, sorrow in her small, dark eyes. Everybody wanted to be somewhere else at this point. They already knew that the BLU team was sent off about one week ago. News of their disappearance travelled fast, faster than a speeding bullet. After that, Helen had doubts about sending the REDs anywhere else. However, staying here was out of the question.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle? If we were to partake in this deadly excursion, where would you be sending us?"

Miss Pauling flipped two pages of her clipboard back. And there it was, scribbled between the needed rations, between the supplied weapons, tucked in between the calculated chances of their safe return, stood a name. A name of the sanctuary that was to protect them during the riots, a sanctum of amity. She cleared her throat, as if the word itself had to be spoken perfectly clearly.

"Harvest."

She flipped the papers back to the front and picked up a pen.

"You are set to leave first thing in the morning, two days from now. I suggest you call your relatives. There is no way to communicate down there; all phone lines and forms of contact have been cut off. Even the Respawn will not be functional. So, I am not going to lie… this might just be your last chance to speak to them."

The Medic narrowed his eyes at the girl, twisting the small, golden wedding band on his finger. He couldn't imagine never speaking to his love again. He was the first to get up, the first to run towards the phone. The Scout was next, the Sniper followed. Quite soon, everybody walked out of the room, apart from Miss Pauling and the Spy. Even the mercenaries without a family, or at least without a family they spoke of, walked out of the area that seemed to smother them, remind them of the situation at hand. Pauling shouted something at them, saying that Harvest was only temporary. She didn't know this for sure and probably just said this to calm herself down. The Spy watched the glare on her cat-eyed glasses. The sun shined upon the glass, but she did not mind it. For all she cared, it wasn't there. It shouldn't have been there, it was not called for at all. Her gaze shifted to the masked mercenary, staring at the blank, pitch-black television screen. They were alone.

"Where will you go, Pauling?" He asked. The girl bit her bottom lip and looked away. She couldn't come with them, she had to stay and help out at the arsenal. Nobody knew about modern weaponry quite as well as she did. She had no choice but to stay. It was written all over her face.

"I see…" Spy reached into his jacket and took out his cigarette case. It opened with a click.

"Don't you have a family to call?"

The Spy said nothing.

"Alright then…"

Her footsteps were slow, she dragged her feet across the cold floor. When she left, the Spy firmly grasped the remote control in his hand. With a buzz, the TV switched on, and the beautiful face of Emily Payne was visible once again.

"Don't be fooled by these silly little things. Nobody is going to die, darlings. The good fellows I'm advertising will make sure none of you do. I am going to keep you safe…"

Her voice filled the room, feeling like a knife dipped in honey. The Spy smiled at the foolish girl, probably even fooling herself as she said this nonsense.

"Don't you worry about a thing, darlings! Just sit back and enjoy the program. Everything's alright, relax! Just put all of your problems aside, darlings!"

The best overprotective big sister in the word...

Her face disappeared once again, making the assassin smile from ear-to-ear. Some ashes fell on his shoes. He kicked the gray powder off.

Highly unlikely.

The Texan scurried through the hall, panting. His large, gloved hand found its place upon Miss Pauling's shoulder. She convulsed, slightly taken aback by the contact. Turning around, she found herself face-to-face with the Engineer. His knees were bent, his chest expanding widely as he tried to catch his breath.

"You…" he started, "You… you walk mighty fast, Miss P."

Miss Pauling adjusted her glasses and dropped down her hands. The clipboard she fell was now leaning on her hip. Dell could see the writing on it; it looked like a grocery list with strange quantities of foodstuff.

320 kilograms of flour

400 kilograms of grain

Eight chickens

Salt (100-200)

Canned goods (check supply)

Gasoline

"Can I help you, mister Conagher?" She asked calmly. Dell licked his dry lips and stood up straight.

"Miss Pauling, Ah've been in this service for years now… Ah never asked fer much… A bed, some bullets, a hot meal… that's it. Ah've always prided mahself on bein' low maintenance, ya know? Well… after this whole thing, things… just became more complicated. So Ah'm afraid I have… a request. And Ah'm afraid it ain't a small one."

Pauling tapped her manicured nails against the clipboard, nodding. Strangely, she knew what his next question would be. He needed something from her. Or rather, he needed something for himself.

"Miss P., Ah have a huge favor to ask of ya. If… if ya could find it in your heart to-…"

The young woman looked down at her feet.

"I see…"

She grabbed his hand and pushed it off her shoulder. With a turn, she proceeded to walk towards the Administrator's office. Dell gulped. What he was going to ask of Pauling wasn't going to be a small favor. Now he knew that this wasn't up to her at all. Until he could face the Administrator, he could only pray for compassion and the good Lord's sympathy.

God knows that the woman had none.