I'VE EBEEN GONE SO LONG SORRY

Well, I'll try to update more often now. Sorry. :C


"Victory!"

Tracy was greeted by the sounds of cheers as she opened her eyes once more. Her teammates were throwing their hats in the air, hugging each other and grinning broadly. Tracy didn't feel that great. For one, she just fucking saw a clone or something of herself, and two, she was just killed again. The Demoman hugged her from behind and around the waist, lifting her into the air.

"Haha! That's the way to do it!" He yelled in her ear, causing Tracy to be shaken from her thoughts, catching sight of the Scout who just entered. He must've killed her! Disentangling herself from the Demoman's hug, she ran over to the Scout, who was cheering along with them.

"Man, what the fuck?!" She yelled, jabbing him in the chest and catching him by surprise. "You didn't have to kill me!"

The Scout raised a brow, as if the reason why he had killed the newbie was obvious. "Well, I did 'cause after the match ends, the respawn goes offline. You'd have been stuck with that blood mug til' the next match, or the Medic raised a finger to help ya. Between you and me, the guy likes to see pa—"

The Medic coughed into his gloved fist, elbowing the Scout behind the neck. The Bostonian hissed with pain, bending his neck as he rubbed at his newest developing bruise. "But, yah, anyways, I didja a favor."

Tracy huffed, still feeling as if she was going to have nightmares that night. In fact, she was sure she was. All that blood… flesh and bits of bone scattered in the dust. The sound of bullets and screams still rang through her ears. And that clone… those eyes, those wrathful eyes that seemed to say "murder".

Dammit all, she wanted to go to bed, and not to dream.

The group lingered a moment before flowing out of the area and back to the BLU building.


"Yo! Pass the mash potatoes!"

Tracy rolled her eyes, putting an amount on her plate before handing it off to the Scout. Her plate was small at the beginning, not feeling like eating because of those flashing scenes in her head, the exposed muscle and flesh on the ground…

She shook her head from those thoughts. The Soldier had shoved a steak onto her plate, ordering her to eat it if she tried to argue. She supposed she saw his point; she needed to eat in order to fight in matches and stay healthy. And train, of course.

"Well, you weren't exactly the all-star we were expecting," began the Medic, the table hushing somewhat as he spoke to the Thief. "But you weren't a terrible beginning. At least you didn't start crying."

That was a comforting thought, actually. She used to be a cry baby, crying whenever she got caught for shoplifting or in court during her friend's trial. She was surprised she didn't even have a raspy throat. Maybe it took a while to feel the shock, she had no idea.

"Yeah, well, uh, thanks." Tracy muttered, looking from the Medic to her plate, noticing the Soldier glared across the table at her, so Tracy shoved a piece of steak in her mouth.

The table remained quiet for a moment while they ate and drank (mostly the Scotsman drank) until they finally hit dessert, which was a rare treat for the mercenaries. The Pyro came out from the kitchen, the fire alarm blaring, holding a pie in one hand and a cake in another.

"Is that apple pie? That's the American's pie!" The Soldier grinned enthusiastically, taking a slice as soon as the Pyro set down the tin.

"Err, actually, it's more of a British pie… It was invented by the British…" The Thief muttered under her breath, receiving a stare of such magnitiude she didn't even bother to look back.

"As I said, it's America's pie." The Soldier reconfirmed for everyone, and nobody dared argue.

"Uhm…" Tracy piped up after a moment, wiping steak sauce from her lips (with the back of her sleeve, to the disgust of the Spy) and trying to gain everybody's attention. "Can I ask why there was another Thief on the opposite team that looked exactly like me?"

The room was suddenly silenced. Even the Pyro in the kitchen had stopped mumbling a happy tune underneath its mask.

"… We don't talk 'bout it." Began the Texan, hesitating a moment like the rest at answering. "We don't question it. I'd rather not think about the RED Engineer."

"But… but he looks exactly like you… but he's different. Like… he talks louder and he's more friendly…" She tried to push the subject to the Engineer, who subtly began ignoring her by putting on his noise-cancelling earphones.

"And… And the Sniper! He's quieter than you!" Tracy pointed to the Sniper, who tipped down his hat in order not to look at her. "And meaner, I must say…"

"My… whatever it was… was insane… those eyes. They just— they just stared right into me. That Thief was sadistic… cruel…" The words came from her lips in a haunting tone. "Why… why would it act like that?"

"We don't know, really." Murmured the Spy, wiping his lips on a napkin like a proper fellow. "My doppelganger appears to be more or less civilized as myself, yet… darker. I am not sure how to explain it. Indeed, they are sadistic, and I admit I might be as well, but not to the level they take it…"

The table was no longer cheery as the topic of doppelgangers was dropped. Tracy didn't regret it, however. She had to ask sooner or later, and now she knew something was not right, even more so than it already was.

Tracy quickly finished dinner, grabbing a soda before running up the stairs and to her room, where she grabbed a notebook from a desk, scribbling down on it.

Are they hiding something? Is it because I am new here, that I cannot be trusted with such secrets? I am indeed curious, but estranged, frightened. Why did the Red Thief look so…terrifying? I swear I will have dreams of blood and flesh and those maniacal eyes. Will I be begging for mercy next time I encounter them? I know it will be succourless, but I must try to live with this. I am forced to either way. I doubt I could escape from this place with my life, and including the legal papers I had signed, even going back home would bring nothing but trouble to my mom.

I guess I should probably write her, but I won't mention anything to her about this… monstrosity of a place. She doesn't need to worry about me, seeing as she has two jobs just to keep her house. Dad is gone; he's been gone since I was twelve. Damn, this is sounding like a journal or something.

I guess I should write a journal, considering that it might help me. I do not know, there doesn't appear to be councilors here. Heh, ironic. Sent to place where I thought I would be a counselor, but instead, I need counseling. Ah well.

It's what? May twenty eighth. I guess I should keep track of the date too. I'll mark the days off until I'm released. I wonder if all the calendars here have pin-ups of girls on them. I hope nobody's, uh, "released" themselves on it.

Well, I suppose I will write here later.

- Tracy Richardson.

Closing the notebook, she set her new journal into the desk, turned off the lights. She then undressed in the dark and fell into her bed, ignoring the need to brush her teeth. Damn.


TBC!