Author's notes: This chapter took a good while to do and I think it shows, the whole thing is more than double the length of some earlier chapters. Once I started writing I found things going in a direction I'd briefly entertained but not really planned and from there things just kept on flowing. There's probably a good few mistakes in here, a certain element may seem really cliché and I may have overdone a few things here and there but hopefully it'll all work out.
I do wish the site would keep my larger gaps to denote major scene changes (e.g. shift from RED to BLU) and for the separation between the author's notes and the story but meh, it can be dealt with. I've been feeling pretty rough all day so that combined with the difficulty of writing this chapter may mean I've completely messed up some aspects. Either way, I appreciate the continued feedback and support I've been receiving, I might not have gotten much further than the first chapter otherwise.
Edit: Have found and fixed a few mistakes here and there. A few lines of text have been changed to make more sense or flow better and despite my best efforts, I've not been able to fix the paragraph spacing as I'd like. Chapter 8 should be done before the New Year.

Chapter 7: Fire and Steel

Days turn to nights, nights turn to days and still the Engineer tirelessly works, building, tweaking and testing. The clang of metal striking heated steel, still glowing hot from the forge. The beeps and whirs of machinery coming to life, blinking at their proud father. The explosions that rocked the base, scattering any wildlife foolish enough to be anywhere near the twin bases of Teufort...

Where there had once been but a lone man, weary and weak, a wreck without his team...that had been broken apart through sheer force of will, replaced with fire and intent, refined to perfection. He had gone to sleep with a hand of rusty iron and awoke with a fist of steel. With this hand he would rebuild...and with another, he would destroy. Where the cripple once stood there was now a man.

He'd nursed his injuries, crafted new weapons, new equipment, toiling without need for rest; time a meaningless concept to his mind, forever on overdrive. The Texan maintained himself solely through sheer determination, coffee and the very rare nap, the only importance of day or night being the countdown that brought him ever closer to that all-important day.

He flexed his new left hand experimentally before testing out the arm too, the metal gleaming under the strong lights. Both hands clenched into fists, his eyes surveying over his workshop: it was crammed full of machines, intel, blueprints, materials and documents his eyes were never meant to see. A grin. A laugh. A pounding heart, the burning drive of a man with nothing to lose.

Damn, he felt alive again!

Elsewhere, the BLU Spy was currently wishing very much that he was dead as he awkwardly stood in the large room, glancing nervously at the massive monitors. The desk before him was strewn with papers and books and behind that desk there sat his worst nightmare, currently sat with her back to him, surveying the monitors. The Spy had been here often enough to know how to best gauge the Administrator's moods and what not to say, but even for all his expertise on the matter and his never-ending supply of roguish charm...even he had difficulty best judging his course of action.

And so he remained silent, waiting for the Administrator to address him, resisting the urge to cram as many cigarettes as possible into his mouth in some futile attempt at steadying his nerves. He mentally tried to calm himself or at the very least project an aura of calmness onto his features and posture, reducing the occasional trembles through his spine to a barely noticeable vibration. A clock was ticking, loudly and annoyingly, the sound hammering his skull as he glanced around once more.

He'd been here often enough, but this room never failed to create powerful feeling in him. There was a large distance from the grand doors to the most powerful woman in the world's desk. Massive monitors showed vital information from across the world and replayed fight scenes from the history of the two mercenary teams. Impossibly dark shadows wavered at the edges of the room like grinding teeth ready to swallow souls into their fathomless depths. Harsh light shone down on anyone with the misfortune to be standing before the Announcer, a spotlight to cause them to sweat and shift, to feel the torture of being scrutinised...before she turned her eyes onto them and the real meeting began.

Finally, with a puff of smoke and a hacking cough, the chair span round, revealing...her. The Announcer. The Administrator. The owner of TF Industries, the neutral party in the never-ending war between Redmond and Blutarch Mann. The most powerful woman in the world, the one pulling the strings behind the scenes, master of the battlefield and of both mercenary teams. RED and BLU may have secretly owned between them every corporation on the planet, but the Spy had no doubt as to who held the real power over the population. It certainly wasn't the dimwitted ancient men who were still continuing this bitter brotherly feud.

Further silence, her glare tearing away at any psychological armour the Spy tried to erect, seeing past his mask, face and his endless stream of false identities to the soul of the man who stood before her, trying his best to remain standing tall even as his legs turned to jelly, his knees trembling and sweat cascading from every pore. The atmosphere was penetrating to the core, the tension thick enough to slice with a knife. The Frenchman bore under this treatment for several more minutes before the Administrator voiced her displeasure.

"You failed."

It wasn't a question. It was short, cold and to the point, very typical of the woman in purple sitting before him. There were unspoken undertones to those two simple words and the Spy didn't even have to think to pick them up: 'Your team has failed in a spectacular fashion but right now I hold this blame on you. They will be dealt with in due time but in the present I will see you suffer. You were the one most involved and the one who I entrusted this to the most.'

The masked man didn't bother with excuses, he didn't bother begging for mercy or for understanding, didn't even try to explain or make smooth assurances that the deed would be done. He just looked back at those impossibly cold and dark eyes, doing all he could not to shrink back or betray his voice as she stared back, expecting a response. She received nothing, the man remained silent. A stalemate. Just as he was about to crack under his gaze, she spoke again, tapping her cigarette on an ashtray, leaving it there to burn as she linked her hands together and leant forward.

"Because of this...error, I will be forced to deal with RED and BLU over this..."

She paused, as if searching for the right word before her eyes bored into the Spy once more:

"...termination of contract. In one month BLU will engage RED once more. One way or another, this will be the end of both RED and BLU. Do. Not. FAIL ME AGAIN!"

The air was sparking with electricity, the temperature having dropped countless degrees, the sheer seething hatred pulsing from the Announcer, breaking the Spy's resolve once and for all, the man cowering before her boundless wrath, heart pounding and twisting and gasping. For him and the rest of his team, the punishment had yet to even truly begin...

The last RED knew the odds, he knew he had essentially no margin for error. Teufort could be furious, a constant struggle at close proximity where the slightest misstep by any single member of the team could cost the rest of them everything. Without a team...he'd be forced to improvise. He leant back, taking a short breather from his frantic work schedule to rest and recall, planning his next job even as his mind wandered...

He remembered countless conversations with the men he'd worked, dined, fought, slept, celebrated and died with. No matter what the odds in the past, no matter what new tactics or weapons the BLUs had thrown at them, their teamwork had shone through. Even as you thought you were alone, separated and vulnerable, you were bound to be saved in your time of need, to be aided by your own guardian angel...be it a Soldier falling from the sky, a precision shot from the Sniper, the sudden decloak of the Spy, the roar of a Heavy or the muffled cries of a Pyro springing out in ambush...

He owed his team everything. Even as his eyes slowly drifted shut, his raging spirit and protesting body arguing over his right to rest, he could almost see and hear them in the workshop with him. His team. His friends. His family in this hellhole of eternal war, of death and rebirth.

His eyes opened with a start, quickly scanning over the featureless white void he found himself in. His mind tried to process this but was interrupted by a cry of "Over here, Herr Engineer!"

Not daring to believe it, he got to his feet and turned around to see the Medic waiting for him, performing a little bow before gesturing to a hospital bed besides him.
"Sit here bitte, you are in need of a little examination. I must check that ze stress and trauma hasn't impaired your ability to fight, ja?"

The Texan just blinked with confusion before doing as he was told, not even trying to make sense of it all. He did, at least, try to strike up conversation with the German doctor even as he snapped on his gloves and prepared his tools.

"Uh...doc? Not to be rude or anythin' but...aren't you, well, dead?"

The Medic didn't even pause in his preparations or raise his eyebrows at the strange question. Merely humming to himself as he searched for a proper needle to take a blood sample before answering.

"For a fellow man of science, you are slow on the uptake. Perhaps you are more shaken up then I thought. Now hold your arm out, zhis will only sting for a second."

Before he could protest, the German had gripped his right arm and plunged a rather large needle into it, slowly drawing out the blood, ignoring the grimace of the Engineer's face.

"Ah, danke. Now, where we were? Oh yes, you might want to sit up for this, my hard-hatted friend." The Medic said with a chuckle, releasing the blood into a vial and swirling it before stashing it away in a cupboard that had materialised out of nowhere. His features became deadpan however as he turned back to address the bewildered man.

"Engineer, I am indeed dead, as is the rest of the team. But as long as you live and remember us, we will never truly die. You face impossible odds and won't have me to keep you alive. When you awaken, search under my bed, you should find a box containing information regarding the Medigun. It will be locked, the key to unlock it is hidden in a hollowed-out copy of 'On the Origin of Species' by Charles Darwin on my bookshelf. I believe a man of your intellect should have no problem adapting it to aid you against the dummkopfs of BLU?"

A pause, a hand on the poor Texan's shoulder and a shift to a gentler tone.

"Zhis is hard for you, I know. But before I send you off the rest of the team, I want to give you a piece of advice. In my years as this team's Medic, for all that I've relied on my patients to protect me, there were countless times where I was separated from them. Fleeing and regrouping is often the sane choice but it is predictable. BLU will expect you to act in certain ways, relying on your machines. Surprise them. A Soldier doesn't expect syringes in his eyes or a saw to the arm when chasing a helpless doctor, BLU won't expect an Engineer with teeth."

A savage grin and his gloved hand reached for the Engineer's, pulling him out of the bed to his feet. He looked over the Texan approvingly, noting the fire in his soul, the last RED almost glowing with drive: drive for revenge, drive to survive, drive to get to the bottom of the mysteries of the 'why?' and 'how?' that had plagued him since this mess had begun.

A quick nod of understanding and a soft utterance of "Appreciated, doc" and the Engineer found himself sitting on the roof of Teufort, a beer in one hand sitting alongside the Sniper. Less taken aback this time, he merely cracked open the can and sipped from it, enjoying the silent company of the Australian, who likewise simply grinned and leant back, drinking from his own can calmly, the sun reflected in his aviator sunglasses.

A gentle breeze, the stirring of water below, time passes. Eventually there is a gentle sigh and the marksman turns to face his friend.

"I ain't gonna lie to ya truckie, you're in a right sorry situation here. Wankers made it so I can't watch your back when you go out there but I do have a lil' somethin' to help ya with your payback on them BLU buggers, mate."

Something about the way the Sniper said it or maybe the gleam in his eyes but the Engineer couldn't help but snort and smile in amusement, raising a questioning eyebrow. The Australian returned with a toothy grin of his own and then told him. The silence was instantly shattered with howling laughter from both men, causing nearby birds to fly off in alarm.

It eventually subsided and the Engineer made a single passing remark with a good-natured chuckle before the scene shifted once more:

"Son, I don't think 'piss' even begins to cover that crazy plan o' yours."

The sights and sounds of Paris (for there was nowhere else it could have been) were brought to his senses as the smell of freshly baked bread hit his nostrils and the sight of the suited man at the table in front of him registered.

"As much as I would love to show you the sights, labourer, we have pressing business to get to."

The Spy certainly looked all business and even in death masked his fondness of the Texan with his arrogance and fake annoyance. The Frenchman sipped from a glass of wine, savouring the flavour for but a moment before he retrieved a slim folder from a briefcase under the table and passed it to the Engineer, who felt very out of place in this outdoor restaurant in his messy overalls and construction gear.

He quickly glanced through the papers as the Spy continued with his usual air of self-importance.

"Because some members of this team always suspected the possibility of foul play, I have over time amassed a great deal of intelligence from both RED and BLU that were never meant to be seen. In zhe unlikely event of my death, I have safeguards protecting zhis information zhat will destroy it and any other incriminating evidence should anybody feel the inclination to snoop through my personal belongings. In your hands, dear Engineer, is how to circumvent my protection and reach the documents I have risked life, limb and reputation to secure...even going through the indignity of posing as a woman and seducing a rather disgusting excuse for human life to obtain some of those files."

The Spy stopped to spit on the floor and light up a cigarette, the revulsion very visible on his features as both he and the Engineer shuddered a little at the thought.

"Needless to say, zhat man is dead and you have zhe great honour of being entrusted with my secrets. Don't let me down, Monsieur Engineer, or should I say, Monsieur-"

His real name, uttered for the first time in years, a remnant of his life before RED. The Texan spluttered in surprise, as the Spy merely rolled his eyes as if to say 'I am a Spy, knowing everything about everyone is my job' before the smug bastard cloaked and slipped away, leaving the American to slowly recover and finish reading the document before the restaurant faded away.

And so this continued, the last RED meeting with each member of his team, who would have advice, information or encouragement to share with him.

The Scout was for the first time quiet and serious, giving instructions on the fastest routes from one base's intel room to the other, how to avoid enemy attacks and how best to lay traps to catch the BLU Scout. When the Texan questioned him on his sudden change in attitude, the old Scout he knew flared up, puffing his chest out and insisting that he just didn't want the 'old man' to go and get killed without anyone 'as awesome and good-looking as me' around to save his bacon. The Engineer took the boy's sudden defensiveness in good humour and was taken aback when the runner stopped him from leaving, tears in his eyes, asking for him to pass on a message to his Ma back in Boston. A promise was made, hands were shaken and the stakes rose ever higher.

The Soldier was as loud and bold as ever, barking orders at the Texan and insisting that the man get into shape on the double if he was to have any hope on the battlefield, streaming out a bunch of mostly useless or misheard quotations. Most of the man's advice was useless but a few key points regarding elevation, the element of surprise and the BLU Soldier's likely tactics seemed useful. For all of the Soldier's usual insanity and criticisms of the Engineer, he did relax a little and pat his teammate on the back, commending the man's progress so far ('You did good, son, real good. Make me proud') before giving a salute. For the first time, the Engineer felt compelled to return the gesture, pride and determination swelling within him as he left the military man behind.

With the Pyro the words were hard to understand but the meaning was clear. In death they still refused to remove their mask or suit, clinging onto their obsession with fire and their often childish nature. The Pyro saw the fire blazing behind the goggles of the Texan and acknowledged that the man shared the same easily visible flames that flared in the Pyro's eyes, beyond the lenses of the gas mask. A shaking of hands, a light-hearted smack to the back, a sudden hug, followed by some muffled sobs and advice he could only just understand before the suited firebug was waving goodbye. A strange friendship had always existed between the pair and for all their differences, for that one glimmering moment they were strangely connected. Who they were or what the past was didn't matter, there was only the screaming inferno of their hearts and the ironclad resolve to succeed.

In the foggy highlands of Scotland, the Demoman was strangely sober, or at least less drunk, as he addressed his fellow defensive class. Alcohol and stories were exchanged alongside tactics, chemical compositions of explosives and how to best exploit the many properties of certain detonations to the Engineer's advantage. Perhaps they had a wee bit too much too drink ('Look, laddie, I swear to ya I saw Nessie out there wearin' some poncy-arse dandy hat wit' feathers an' a fairy on top') but either way, the pair made progress. The last of the proud highlander Demomen line conferred his family's secrets in bombs, booze and swords to the last of the REDs before the mist overtook them both.

In the frozen landscape of Siberia, a lone shack stood, resisting the fierce winds and snow, protecting the two men inside as a roaring fire kept them warm. The Heavy gave his encouragement ('Leetle baby man do well for someone so tiny. Entire team rely on you, make Heavy and Sasha proud!'), reluctantly shared some minigun design specifications of his with the Engineer and after munching a Sandvich slowly in deep thought, pointed out some weaknesses of the BLU Heavy and Medic when they had fought at Teufort in the past.

And finally the team stood together for one last time. No words were said, nothing more was shared. There was no need. They simply smiled, looking an as the Engineer smiled back without his trademark helmet or goggles, allowing them all to see his features properly as they faded into the distance, waving and calling out their best wishes to him. His team were gone once more and now there was only darkness.

No, not darkness. No, his team was not gone. He bowed his head, strapping his goggles back onto his face and securing his helmet to his head before he straightened, standing tall in the void. His team were alive: they were in his memories, in this base, in his hands and in his heart. He had once had hands of iron, he'd then gone to sleep with hands of steel. But now?

He would arise with hands aflame, fists that could forge any path he desired, a force that could not be stopped. No time to bleed, no time left for regret or remorse, only time to move ahead. The flame that had driven him before was no longer a spark or even an ember. He had a fever, he was a city alight, a blazing inferno burning out of control...

His eyes opened, his body was rested, the fruits of his past labours surrounded him. He slowly rose, refining his plans based on new information, saving his memories of those eight other mercenaries that he'd never forget. He glanced at his work so far and the time he had left before he picked up his wrench once more.

To Engineer is to take reality and to bend its laws to one's will, to construct a solution for any problem you could face. To be an Engineer in this war is to protect and defend: not the intelligence or the control points but those most important to you. To be The Last Engineer...

He still had work to do.

He still had problems to solve.

He still had his own destiny to make, a route blasted through the barriers of fate with nothing but fire and steel in his bare hands.