RED Tracker RECRUITED

by Hitman White

The RED team has been caught in a bad spot for months leaving their overall performance poor. The Administrator will not have this, and so she sets out in search for a mercenary to even out the scores. Few issues—the team will have to adjust, and Scout isn't quite sure if he's head over heels or bat over skull for the newbie from Detroit. Gents, ladies: Meet the Tracker!

10. The Running Break

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

"Scout…yo, Scout! Get your butt up!"

Chapter 9

The Running Break

Four months later…

Wiggling her jaw impatiently the Tracker waited to be acknowledged. A change has been made to her uniform—a cranberry red track jacket was a new addition given to her. The gift was from the Administrator, the design by Ms. Pauling. An orange/yellow bar stretched across her chest, reaching to either sleeve. On her back sat her class emblem proudly, a smaller one embroidered over the right chest. Her zipper was half open, revealing her matching tank top under. Impatiently she fondles with her pockets as her foot taps loudly. Knocking on the door politely never proved to be enough. So whenever she needed him for any reason, Tracks would beat upon his door until her fists ached. Usually by now he would have been yelling at her—calling her names and spitting out a colorful string of language. But this time it was dead silent in the Scout's room. Fluttering her eyes she blows air into her cheeks, the flustered skin puffing out with frustration. How long must she wait there?

During the few times she ever knocked on his door rarely was it for her own self. Everybody needed each other, and a majority of the time she was the right person to fetch them. This time the Soldier wanted to have a chat with the Scout—man to man. What could she say? That's what happens when you skip the Soldier's training. Though, during that morning when she noticed the Scout was a no-show it truly shocked her. The boy was always the first to dive into the band wagon, so long as guns were permitted. And they always were permitted. Demo and Engineer claimed that he was having a hard time sleeping through the night. The excuse was childish to her—Tracker always had her own issues but she still went through the day strong, even if she had only three hours of rest. Or in her current case, experiencing some discomfort. Mumbling something under her breath she rubs her chest. Her skin tingled, a pressure pushing against the walls of her rib cage. Letting out a grunt of discomfort she attempts to ignore the scraping feeling. Her heart burned, each beat accompanied by a quick and sudden sting. Raising her top she exposed her stomach to observe the faded lines that printed upon her pale flesh. Incision lines; earlier that morning she had went through the most traumatizing experience of her life. To be frank, Tracker had never been to the doctor's office. Hell, the last time she was handled by a doctor was the day of her birth. So when she woke up at 4:00 in the morning the last thing she wanted to do was actually arrive to her appointment with the Medic. Skipping out would have been a problem, however. The Spy made it very clear to her that if she tried to escape from her fate he would simply drag her there—conscious or not. It was after that when the Frenchman also stated how he would get the Sniper and Soldier involved. Anything would be done to get her to the clinic. Once the procedure began she could only pray that nothing horrible would happen. If the Spy hadn't been there to calm her she surely would have screamed and punched her way out.

"I am here, ma bichette. Just stay calm. The Medic has done this procedure with all of us."

"A-Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Of course! I am a doctor after all. You have no need to vorry your safety is my priority. Veeether it vill hurt or not however should be your main concern."

"All of this so I can…ÜberCharge. Or whatever you call it—hey, wait! On second thought I-I'm not ready to be cut open yet! Ahhhhhh! That stings. Wait…what's that! It's scratching my insides!"

"Vat the? Archimedes, no! It smells in zere!"

"WHAT?! What was that?! Was that a pigeon?!"

"No, no, no Fraulein. Zat ist a dove—very different. Don't vorry he ist very clean. He just wanted to make sure your intestine vere intact aheheh. Ja, now then. Spy, hold her down please."

Tracks gulps—the metal piece zapped occasionally as it fused with her heart. The thick needles which penetrated one of her most important organs scratched against the raw tissues with every beat. Even breathing somewhat hurt. But the Medic noticed her discomfort, and he had reassured to her that within two days it will feel as if nothing is there. Swallowing a lump in her throat she shudders. Once again she knocks the door and waits for a reply. Nothing came up. "Scout? Hey, Scout!" No answer. Infuriated she lets out a long sigh. If she returns to the Soldier empty handed he'll make her do another two hundred pushups. Her damn arms were on fire now she can't do another set! "Ugh, this is pointless…alrighty then," her fingers snap as she dashes off.

Deep in the RED base the Engineer had been fine tuning one of his most latest designs. With a zipping noise the sentry shifts its barrel to the right, the Engineer's wrench struggling to turn a bolt along the base. With each dry turn it jerks to the side, the machine whirling on the verge of breaking down. A low growl escapes from his sneering lips as she struggles. "C'mon baby…turn!"

"Hey Engie."

The Engineer drops his trusty wrench, his head slamming against the top of his sentry. It whizzes, the machine spinning in place before shutting down. A raspy hiss snakes from the Texan's lungs while he rubs against his bald head. A sore spot was itching to form now. Opening his eyes he spots the Tracker. A rather calm looking snicker played her face as she crouched down on his table, her weight balanced on top of his toolbox. The Engineer shakes his head.

"The hell are you doin' scarin' me like that?" he straightens his form. Dusting his arms off she gives him an innocent look. "Awe c'mon Engie I wasn't doing it on purpose. Listen, I need a favor." Engineer raises a brow, his goggles pressed firmly against his face. Reaching over he takes a hold of some Red Shed and raises it to his mouth.

"Oh, alright darlin'. What can good ol' Engie do for you?" he begins to drink the beer. Tracks places a finger on her chin, rubbing it in small circles.

"I need you to break into Scout's room for me." Beer flies through the air, and Engineer slams a fist against his chest. Coughing, he struggles it catch his breath. "Hooold up there girl, you want me to do what? I ain't helpin' you get back at him if that's what you want."

"…" Running her fingers along her face she wipes the droplets of saliva and beer, flicking it to the side. She grunts, annoyance evident throughout her features. Tracker gives him an unhappy look. "Look, it's nothing like that," she attempts to reassure him. The man gave her a stone like gaze. "C'mon Engie—the Soldier's forcin' me to do this. I promised him I'd get the Scout up and out to the training grounds by noon and it's almost 11:50. He won't answer his door." Engineer had been rubbing his bald head, listening intently.

"He ain't?"

"No, and I'm not in the mood to take his punishment," she had been observing one of his tools with a dreary expression. Taking his screwdriver from her grasp the Engineer rolls to down the table in thought.

"He hasn't been very fluent lately. I reckon he won't be up until the fight later." Tracks leans in, "So you're helpin' me right?"

"What? Nah, darlin'. I ain't breakin' the kids lock. I'll never hear the end of it," he earns an exasperated groan.

"Awe c'mon Engineer! I don't know what to do and I can't pick locks." Bending over to fetch the wrench the Engineer bangs it against his sentry. The machine zaps before reawakening meekly. "Try gettin' him up without making a ruckus. You're a city slicker—there's ways of gettin' into a room quietly, ain't there?" the man gives her a warm smile before returning his attention to his little device. Tracker's face went long, her mind trying to decipher just what he meant.

"…aahhh, I got this."

Giving the Engineer a thank you she pops his hardhat back on his head before bouncing off the table. Her body scurried through the halls, flying out through the twin sliding doors just before they shut. The Heavy stares after her, eyes blinking with confusion. Once outside Tracks ran quite a ways down until she was under a particular window. Her breaths were uneven as she looks up at the distance. The desired destination was quite a ways up. Tracks chuckled—nothing she couldn't handle. Little did the Engineer know, he had reminded her of her theft days back in Detroit. She would scale building sides and sneak into apartments windows. If Scout was as much of a sucker as she thought he was, he would have left his window unlatched. Reaching up grabs onto the closest ledge. With calloused hands she could now grip onto surfaces—hot or cold. Ms. Pauling never supplied her with gloves, and if she wrapped her hands the Scout would accuse her of being a copycat. Attempting to jump from one ledge to another plants her feet against the wall and bounces up. With ease she grabs onto his window's edge. This was good—it seems her exertion during practice has paid off. Sweat rolled from the side of her jaw as her finger flicks against the edge of his window. Just as she figured it was unlocked. A small pop was made as she slid it open, the cold air rushing into her face. The very slight sent of musk and cherry flushed into her nostrils. Tracks's nose flared open, the scent strange. Crawling in she accidently flips, her butt landing within a box. She struggles as she sank into it, the cardboard's grip tight like molasses. "Agh…dammit," she whispers, a blush of embarrassment tainting her cheeks. Something soft pressed against her butt. Probably clothes of some sort. Finally being able to stand she stumbles to the side, a can bending and attaching to her foot. Snarling she kicks it to the side. "Ugh, little vermin!"

The room was dark, but she could tell it was filthy just by the smell of it. While flaring her nostrils she caught that stench again. Soda pop—the air was fizzy with a cherry aroma. Bending down she decides to grasp an empty can. She shakes it, some old and forgotten fluid bounced within. The leftover lost its fizz.

Bonk! Atomic Punch, cherry fission. Now with Isotopes!

Tracks cringes her nose at the sound of it. Though she didn't want to admit it in person she actually wanted to try it. Why else would the Scout be so obsessed with it? "Hng…a little radiation sickness can't hurt," she grumbles, turning it over to watch the sizzling substance pour out. It smokes on the carpet, causing her shoulders to shudder. Dropping the can she wipes her palm along her brown bottoms, her tongue sticking out with disgust. A snore made her freeze. There, before her, the Scout's body laid beneath his sheets asleep. Slowly the clumps of fabric rose up as he breathed soundly. Huffing, her bangs flutter up to expose her stern gaze. The bastard really was asleep!

Carefully she hops over the mounds of cards, magazines, and clothes. A particular piece of clutter snatched her foot, her body falling forward. A loud yelp was suppressed by the soft mattress, her face slamming into it. With sore gums she pushes herself up, her eyes still glued onto him. "…" Taking in a deep breath she closes one eye and grabs a handful of fabric. Yanking, she pulls off his brown sheets to reveal his resting form. The Scout was lying face up, his mouth hanging open as quiet snores continue to flow out. Reaching over her fingers shivered—she wasn't sure on how to approach this. It took her a moment to notice he was once again in his boxers. Pressing her lips together she diverts her gaze, an uncomfortable blush tainting her cheeks. Squeezing her eyes shut she conceals his lower half with the blanket again. Holding her breath she closes the space between them.

"…oh, come on," she mentally bites herself. Firmly gives him a tap on the cheek. Once his body reacts she ducks down, her back pressed against the mattress. As the mattress shifted she could feel him move on the bed. His body stretched, a low groan erupting from his chest until he finally went limp. "…" Furrowing her brows she looms over him, eyes wide with disbelief. With a sigh she wraps her hands around his ankle and tugs. His body slides down by an inch. "Get up."

No reaction. This time she shakes his leg, "Wake…UP!" A tired groan vibrated in his throat, but he had yet to open his eyes. Tracker huffs, shoving his leg to the side. Usually she would have straddled his legs and bounced, but seeing as to how he was under dressed that wouldn't be the wisest or smartest decision. Leaning in she raises her arm, giving the Scout a hard slap across the face without hesitation. The Scout's eyes shot open. The silhouette of a figure loomed above him in the darkness.

"...AAAAHHHHHH!"

"Ahh?! Wha!?" Tracks yelps, her arms waving side to side. "No, no, no it's me!" His form jerks up into a seated position, his chest slamming into hers. Gasping, the female mercenary rolls back and lands hard on the ground. Her foot bangs against the nightstand near them. The small object that adorned it began to shake. As she lands it tips over, falling and hitting her on the face.

Rubbing his eyes the Scout stares into the darkness. Tracker sits up, her hair a mess. The picture frame stuck onto her forehead and hadn't budge once. His face flushed, anger flooding deep within the pit of his stomach. "What the hell are you doing in here?!" he yells at her grounded state.

"Trying to wake up your lazy ass…" her blush was still burning in her cheeks. At first the Scout simply bellowed down at her, but his boxers were in broad daylight. Realization kicks in and the Scout stammers, his hands grabbing the pillow and jamming it before his groin.

"Get the hell out!" Scout watches as she snakes her hand up to grab the object. With a hazy vision she had difficulty seeing what it was, but the small bit of light in the room helped her identify it. Blinking she looks at it with sudden interest. "…who is this?"

Tilting the photo she had come to realize it was a rather pretty woman. A struggle could be heard, the Scout's leg becoming entwined in his covers. Kicking furiously he attempts to free himself. "What?!" he shot his head over the edge of the bed. Wide eyed he reaches over, attempting to grab it. Tracker shifts it out of reach, eyes wide with confusion. "H-HAND IT OVER!"

"I just wanna know, geez," she scoffs, eyes glued to the rather dainty photo. After a long struggle he huffs, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed. The frame moans under his shifting weight, and he snatches the photo from her. "It's my mom, you happy? Now get out!" The young lady watches as he pushes himself up, his leg still wrapped in his covers. Loudly he slams it back down, the photo standing upright in all of its glory again. Tracker stands, crouching down to look at it once more. Upon gazing hard enough she could truly see the resemblance. Her face was angular, her eyes a very crystal clear blue much likes his. The way she smiled was soft and welcoming, much like any mother would smile, and even in this politest of states the rough Scout still resembled her. "She's lovely," Tracks teased, her hip popping out as she glances at his sulking form. The Scout cringes at her compliment—if it even was one—and tenses his shoulders before kicking at the objects on the floor.

"Whatever just get out! How did you get in here anyway?!" Shyly she points to the window, and his head snaps to look. "The hell? You freak!" But when he looks back she had picked up the photo again.

"You look like her," she smirks. "Gimmie that!"

Tracks could only watch as his body towers down. If it were slow motion the moment would be beyond hysterical. A loud yell muffled when his face smacks into the ground, a storm of cards flying into the air before showering back down onto him. Closing her eyes she shakes her head at mess. The Scout's backside had been up in the air, his jaw holding his weight up. "Ugh...fuck..!" his fingers wrap around his chin in the hopes of rubbing of pain away. With a roll of her eyes she crosses her free arm around her chest.

"Oh just put on some pants will you? Anyway, I'm here cuz you missed practice," she bluntly informs him, her finger pointing towards his hunched form. His eyes shot open, pupils mere dots. "Oh…shit…" his words were muffled, his palm still firmly clasping over his nostrils. Tracks rolls her eyes as panic begins to shower over him. "Shit, shit, shit! I slept through my alarm?! Soldier's gonna kick my ass!" The sports fan struggles to stand, a card landing gently upon Tracks's shoulder. Blinking she takes a hold of it with her free hand to peak. It was a trading card like the rest of them. On the front was a man with his arms stretched over his head. Baseball was most likely the sport he played—the red and white clothing he wore looked like any other baseball gear. The date of issue was 1962. Tracker raised a brow. "Bill Monbouquette?" Somehow during her moment of distraction the Scout managed to free himself from his blanket's grasp. Taking a hold of his items he yanks them from her and places them back onto his table.

"NOT. Yours."

"Hmm, obviously. I'm not that big on baseball."

The Scout grunts. "Yeah, I figured since that's all you say to that kid on the phone."

"How many times do I have to tell you, you thick head. That's none of your business."

The man had bent over to fix his belongings, Tracker not once glancing fully at him for courtesy purposes. Sucking her tongue she impatiently waited for him to put on his pants. The sound of scraping and bumping behind her meant that he had been digging for a pair in his drawer. "Fuckin' Soldier—figures he sends you to wake me the fuck up."

"Well you're pretty trite about this," she grunts, but when she got no reply she couldn't help but sigh to herself. Though she couldn't stand him, she was in no position to be questioning why he couldn't stand her. So, after the first few weeks of being there as his teammate, she learned to accept their differences to a certain degree. "…so who's Bill Monbouqette?"

The Scout's little patience began to ferment into agitation—why she had to be in there he didn't know. A little part of him wanted to push her back out the window, but knowing her she'd pull him right out with her. "A baseball player." Tracks seethed.

"I got that you moron. I mean who is he, who does he play for?" She could hear the Scout grunting behind her. "He used to play for the Boston Red Sox. Now he's with the damn Yankees."

"He sounds pretty loyal to you Boston folk~."

Scout snorts as he buckles his belt. "Yeah well he's switching off to the Giants soon. It's fuckin' obvious." The girl tapped her foot, her nose itching from the dust that flew by. "Hng. I wouldn't know."

"Red Wilson, Pete Burnside, Eddie Yost? Any of 'em ring a bell?" The woman gave him a look, and Scout rubs his temples. "Damn you're dense—the Detroit Tigers?"

"Soldier needs you in ten minutes."

"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying! Fuck," his voice rumbles as he pulls his shirt over his head. The Scout didn't even bother to grab his hat. Passing her he grabs a can of bonk and exits the room. Heading towards the training area he came to notice Tracks following not too far behind, his hat and headset firmly upon her grasp. Squeezing his can he gazes over his shoulder. "Why are you following me?"

"Because the mission is in an hour—I have nothing better to do. Might as well watch him kick your butt while I wait."

The young man growls at her sly remark and signature smirk. Biting his lip the door slides open, the Soldier turning to gaze at the two as they enter. Scout opens his arms, grinning cockily as usual. "Hey, what's up Doe?"

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU JUST MISSED, SON!?" The husky man stomps over and jams a finger into the Scout's chest. The young man nearly dropped his can as his back bumps against Tracker. The two runners look to their senior officer, their eyes wide with confusion and shock. Soldier continues to jab his finger against the boy's sternum. "I OUGHT TO CUT YOUR HEAD OFF AND MOUNT IT IN MY BATHROOM! AND YOU," he spits at Tracker. The Scout gazes over his shoulder, her expression priceless.

"Ahh, me?"

"YES, YOU…GOOD JOB." Soldier reaches over and grabs onto their wrists. Unwillingly they were dragged into the middle of the training area before they were released. Scout shakes his arm off, his muscles tense. "What the hell are we doing here? Training's over! So what if I missed it, I needed my beauty sleep!"

"DO NOT LECTURE ME!" the Soldier exclaims, his thumb pressing against a red button. Suddenly the cutouts painted BLU bounce up, one nearly smacking him square in the jaw. A loud yelp echoes through the room as he bounces back, some of his soda spilling out. Bumping into Tracks she squeaks, her body stumbling back. A cutout startles her and she slams into the Scout, more soda flopping out onto the floor. Scout snarls, shaking the liquid from his palm. "Awe, FUCK man!"

"Sorry!"

"TEN HUT!" The two stand straight, arms down and heads up. Their expressions, however, looked as if they went through this so many countless times that they had grown tired of it. The Soldier leans into the Scout's personal space. "WHAT ARE YOU HOLDING, BOY?"

"Bonk, what else?" "DO NOT REPLY TO ME WITHOUT MY SAY, MAGGOT!"

"But you fuckin' asked OUCH!" a shovel smacks the boy on top of his head. Jerking he rubs the sore spot, eyes squeezed shut while can still in hand. Tracks held in a chuckle. "WHAT ARE YOU HOLDING, TRACKER?!"

"Scout's…hat and headset?" "ARE YOU HIS WIFE?"

"What?! N-No!"

"THEN WHY ARE YOU HOLDING ONTO HIS POSSESSIONS? DO YOU FEEL SLAVE TO THIS MAGGOT?!" Without hesitation she tosses the Scout's items to him, the objects slapping him on the side of the face. He stumbles, the soda pouring onto his shirt. His back slams against a cutout, cracking it. Now that made the Soldier angry. As he continues to pressure the two mercilessly, stifled chuckles echo in the upper levels of the room. The Sniper leans against the railing, his glasses hanging off his shirt. Slapping his knee he lets out a raspy laugh. "Watch, the bastard's killin' 'em!" Beside him the Spy shakes his head at the scene. "Perhaps maybe now they will learn to work with one another." Snickering he raises his cigarette to his lips and breathes in a good amount of smoke.

"Can't agree with you more, mate. I got to admit this is a good idea you thought up. Good thing Soldier agreed to it," the Sniper slides his glasses back on before turning away. But before they could continue their conversation an alarm went blaring off. The men stop dead in their tracks, the Soldier freezing her jerking his head up.

"WARNING: RED TEAM, BLU IS ATTEMPTING TO INFILTRATE YOUR BASE!"

Tracks's mouth parts as she listens to the message, the Scout swiping his hair back and slipping his headgear on. "We're being broken into again?" she looks to her male counterpart. Throwing his head back he chugs the rest of his drink before jerking it to her. Shakily her fingers catch it. Tracks stares after the Scout, his form racing out the double doors with the Soldier close behind him. The two had already drawn out their weapons. Soldier's voice boomed through the halls. "READY UP MEN, PROTECT THE BASE! GO, GO, GO!"

"Tracka!" Looking up she watches as the Sniper waves his arm to her, the Spy's body instantly cloaking away. Nearby the door swung open—Spy had raced to the fight. The Sniper pulls out his rifle.

"Meet me up in the tower!" She gives him a questioning look. "But, Snipes-"

"Don' question me and do et!" he had already raced through the same doors that Spy had. Taking several unsure bounces she races towards the exit. Running down the halls she had figured that the fastest way to the sniper tower was going outside. First she sprints into her room to grab her belongings—it wasn't long until she too began to leave her weapons within the privacy of her own dorms. Pushing her window open the Tracker leaps out and lands firmly upon the sandy waves. The hot rays of the sun could not penetrate her jacket, but it still managed to make her skin tingle. Upon breathing in the baking heat her chest started to shrivel from the inside. "AGH!" Tracks gasps—that damn metal piece was cutting her up again! With messy turns she skidded left and right, her feet struggling to keep their grip. Almost every limb in her body wanted to give out. A flash of blue jumps before her. The BLU Demoman aims his deadly weapon.

"GAH!" Raising her arms she flings the Bonk can to his face and hits him straight in the eye. Surprisingly it works, his body stumbling back as the Tracker slings her leg straight into his face. Blood splatters, his body rolling back from her forceful kick. Before the man could even land a strike onto her a knife thrusts into his chest, killing him instantly. Spy's figure appears within a smoky haze, his face stern. "Hurry—get to the tower. I will cover you."

"I can help down here you know."

"Oh? You just threw a can at your opponents face. Besides, even if you were ready your heart hasn't adapted to the voltage yet. Quickly head for the tower and stay there!" Pulling out his kit he instantly disguises himself before disappearing within the alley. Tracks fumes with frustration, her body aching and pleading for her to rest. Climbing the ladder was seemingly more dangerous than running along the streets. Gunfire flew by, and at one point she nearly fell. If she were to land from such a height she would surly splat when landing. The floor door banged several times before flying open, the Sniper preparing to attack with his kukri rose over his head. Reaching down he grabs the offender, his fingers wrapping around clothing. The Sniper pulls them up ready to strike. The Tracker grunts, her back slamming against a stack of boxes nearby.

"…hello."

"Sorry—thought you were the BLU Spoi," he dusts her shoulder off before kicking the floor door shut. Sliding a box above the trapdoor he returns to the window, the rifle already seat up to shoot. "Ready, Sheila?" Tracks grunts, her binoculars in hand. As always they began to use the tactics they've been using for months now. The two were a perfect match—nothing could hide from the Tracker, and no one would survive the Sniper's deadly shots. "The Medic's in trouble."

"I got 'im, Sheila."

"DAMN! Nice," Tracks chuckles, the Sniper smirking. "I never miss," he responds, reloading his gun before scanning the area again. Down below a trail of dust flew through the air. The Scout's footsteps were quick. His swiftness brought him to great heights. Jumping up he dodges a dangerous stream of fire from the BLU Pyro. Landing upon a building the Scout grins to the Soldier, his rocket attack obliterating the enemy. Body parts flew throughout the air, blood splattering against the walls. Heavy's bullets rained the small corridors, the Medic's prized gun healing all who required it.

"READY, DOCTOR?!"

The Scout's eyes widen. Peering out the window he spots the BLU Heavy, the BLU Medic close behind him. Scout curses, backing away slowly. "Shit, shit move it Cyclops move!" Near him the Demoman aims his gun towards the enemy Medic. "Take 'im out before he-" a bullet flies through the man's single eye, his body falling back and slamming harshly against the ground. Scout screams, his arms jerking up to guard him. "…oh fuck," he pants staring down at the bleeding corpse.

A bullet flies by his head. Scout falls back, his body crawling out the door. The BLU Sniper kept the Scout in his deadly sights. Taking in a deep breath the Scout could feel his heart begin to race. The sound of a charge roars from outside of his safe haven. Bullets fly through the walls. A stray grazes his shoulder. Hissing the Scout grabs the injury and jumps up. He charges towards the window, his arm guarding his face before crashing through the window. Landing was more painful than he was expecting. His body jerks up, his teeth gripping onto his tongue too tight. Blood seeped through his pressed lips, his face cringing tightly from the pain. "AAAGH…MEDIC!"

"MEDIC!"

"M-MEDIC!"

Tracker bites her lip. "Shit…" she grunts. The BLU Heavy had been ÜberCharged, his gun swinging side to side and tearing apart the screaming REDs. The Pyro and Engineer had been forced back, their hands coated in blood. She could hear the Sniper curse as he attempted to aim for the Medic. Tracks snaps her head to him. "Heavy, shoot the Heavy!"

"There's no point when he's charged, Sheila! Nothin' can get through 'im. I need to aim for their Medic!"

Narrowing her eyes she spots the Scout's body. He smashes through the window in a dire escape, the glass slicing his tense body and tearing his worn clothes. As his body lands he produces a scream, calling for assistance. His voice was loud enough to catch the unwanted attention of a BLU.

Stay here and don't leave…Sniper and Spy told you so. Sniper and Spy will kill you if you do it. Just don't do it. Stay. Staaay…

"…I'm coming," she huffs, pushing the window open and sliding her body through. The Sniper gasps, his body shooting up and reaching to grab her wrist. The Australian misses by a mere inch, the girl's body sliding against the steep metal roof. "TRACKS!"

Her clothes tug up, the metal roof burning her skin as she slid against it. Jumping onto her feet she allows herself to slide down, hopping upon reaching the edge and leaping onto another angled roof. Her shoes screech from the immense friction, her soles wearing out by the second. Dust flies, a cloud of dirt patching the air with every step she makes. From a distance the Medic and Heavy notice her presence. The Medic shakes his head, "Tracker! Stop! Zere ist danger!"

Holding onto her MOCK 10 the Tracker rolls into view. Her head snaps up. The Scout had been shoved onto the floor, the BLU Spy wrestling to embed his knife into his jugular. Scout hisses, his arms aching and threatening to give out. "GGRRR…AHH…FUCK!"

"Scout!"

The Tracker lunges forward, her shoulder ramming against the Spy's side. "Get OFF of him!" The BLU Spy choked. A shimmer blinded her. The woman grabs onto his wrist, her eyes fighting the temptation to close. But the blinding light was burning her eyes. The BLU Spy bites down against his cigarette, the paper tube nearly slicing in half. A low grumble claws through his throat as the knife closes in. Tracker gasps, his hand wrapping around her neck. She shoves him against the ground, knocking the wind out of him.

"Quoi…? So you are the woman…that the Administrator brought in…" Tracks could feel her head beginning to spin, the itching in her chest beginning to burn.

Suddenly the BLU Spy's head jerks to the side, a bat slamming against his head. Rolling to the side he swings his knife, the blade missing. Scout swings his weapon from below, the bat slamming against his jaw. The Scout used all of his strength for that once swing, his voice filled with malice. "BOINK!"

The boxes behind him flatten upon impact. The loud crunching sound of his bones breaking made even the Tracker twitched. For a moment the Scout remained still, but when he turned to look at her she felt her heart stun. A large cut bled over his left eye, tearing through his eyebrow while dirt and small bruises marked his angular face. The cuts throughout his body reflected some light; the glass jammed into his flesh repulsively noticeable. Raising his palm he rubs the blood that dripped from his lip, his chest heaving. "What's cookin', doll face."

She rubs her sore neck, a bruise beginning to form. "Nothin' much, cupcake," she grunts hoarsely. The Scout glares, his cocky grin now gone. Flurries of bullets tear away the wall near him, the Scout tumbling down. The roar of a bullet screamed through the air. The BLU Heavy had lost his ÜberCharge. Up in the tower the Sniper reloads his gun, his lips pulled back as profanity strings from his mouth. "C'mon Sheila, get outta there."

Reaching over she grabs onto his wrist and pulls him away. "LET GO, DAMMIT!"

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" Pulling him ahead with both hands the two run alongside each other now, their speed in sync. For a moment he gazes at her, stunned. Tracker winks to the man mockingly, a shiver going up his spine. Gritting his teeth he draws out his scattershot, eyes darting side to side for any threats. "YO DOC, ENGIE WHERE ARE YA?!" Distant calls could barely be heard when the firepower became louder. Tracks snaps her head to the side, attempting to location the noise. She takes her binoculars out. "I'll find 'em!" But then her abdomen throbbed with pain. A wrench slams straight into her stomach. Every muscle within her body tenses as it hits the ground. "Auughh why…with the…hostility…"

"C'mon hot shot you wanna piece of me?! Come get it!" the Scout dodges his swing, his bat flying into the man's gut. "Hey hardhat, BONK!" As the BLU Engineer stumbles back a bullet digs through his forehead and out the other end. Scout spins to see the Sniper's hiding spot. "Way ta nearly kill me," he spits out some blood before turning to Tracks. Miraculously to him she was able to push herself up, a look of pure nauseous and irritation on her face. "Fuckin' shit," she coughs, her chest on her verge of exploding. "This…thing is hurting...why couldn't the Medic do it after..." Scout tilts his head up, his tongue running along blood coated teeth. "Get over it." As the Scout turns his head a small gust of wind blows against his sweat coated cheek. A thump was heard, and the two gazed at each other before looking to the wall near them. Embedded within the wood surface was an arrow. Another flies by, the zooming sound hushed but ominous. "RUN!" the Scout shoves her forward. Their lungs took in their fullest capacities, the sodding heat near unbearable. Gunfire roared in the distance as they closed in on the main battle. Tracks wheezes, her breathing harsh. "Scout…my chest is hurting," she gasps. He looks at her, his pace not changing. "Well what do you want me to do about it?!"

"WHY are you being such a jerk?! Agh…crap this hurts. I could have stayed with Sniper instead of freakin' help you!" Each word was a pain to let out. The humming of an arrow flies by, and the Tracker's chokes on her words. For some reason her vision began to fade, her teammate growing farther by the second. Reaching forward her legs come to a stop.

"…Scout…"

He heaves, his eyes burning from the sweat and blood that stricken his face. Stopping he turns to glare at her, but the sight was enough to slash his very words apart. The Scout's mind halts, his teeth catching his tongue and grazing down. Tracker's hands began to shake. She stumbles back slowly, her body swaying.

"…h-help.."