This chapter went through about...six name changes before I found one I liked. This is what happens when you can't make punny titles anymore, dammit.

As always, thanks to Bel for her beta work and awesome insight, and thanks to burn-the-midnight-owl for the Blake fanart! I'm so relieved you guys like that lil' Engineer just as much as I do.

Chapter Nine: The Family Resemblance

Elizabeth Mundy was to Lawrence Mundy as a hopping mouse was to a crocodile—that is, nothing alike, save that they both hailed from Australia. Nevertheless, there was something distinctly Sniper-like about her as she snatched off her own pair of yellow aviators and pursed her lips in silent anger. "All right," she said, "where is my brother?"

It was an almost hilarious scene, a group of hardened mercenaries quailing under the iron gaze of a small, mousy-haired, middle-aged mother. Almost—if not for Lizzie's blazing blue eyes that burned right through the REDs in a toxic mixture of fear and fury. "Where is Lawrence?" she repeated, taking a step forward.

Demoman had seen too many pictures of Sniper's baby sister not to recognize her in an instant. As such, he spoke first. "Haven't the foggiest, Miss Mundy. Last of we saw of 'im, he was herding the other half of the team into his van."

"Is Phil with him?"

"Eh?"

"Philippe!"

"Who?"

Lizzie gnashed her teeth and her resemblance to Sniper doubled. "Spy! Is Spy with my brother? Are they together? Are they all right?"

"Oh. Aye, Mundy stuck with the bloody poof. No need to fret, lass—" Demoman nodded along to his own words "—your brother is in good hands."

Lizzie's shoulders sank and she pressed a hand to her forehead. "He's with Philippe," she said, mostly to herself. "He'll be all right."

"He's in Spy's hands." Medic muttered into the depths of his shotglass. The German had become progressively less friendly with each empty shotglass he set down. He glowered at Lizzie as he reached for another. "There is no point in interrogating us, Fraulein Mundy. We haff no information on your brother, and that is probably for the best."

Lizzie breathed out sharply. "Lawrence's safety isn't the only thing that matters to me."

"It isn't?" Soldier frowned.

"No." She grabbed a chair and swung it around so that she was sitting at the same table with the REDs. Christian came around the bar to stand behind her, arms folded over his chest. As a united front they stared down the REDs. "Now that that's out of the way, what are you doing here?"

Silence. The REDs took to looking in different directions, none of which happened to be in Lizzie's. Soldier scratched at his chin, Demoman admired the swirls in the wooden table, Medic swirled his fifth glass of brandy around and Heavy twiddled his thumbs.

"You need to tell me what you're doing here." Lizzie said softly. She was having none of this of coy nonsense. These men were supposed to protect her brother, and they were not. They were here. Without her brother. Ergo, not protecting him. And that was something Elizabeth Mundy was not about to let stand. When it became clear that the unusually reticent REDs were not about to speak, Lizzie decided it was time to play her trump card. She scooted forward. "Why did you leave Teufort? What about the BLUs? Did they finally get all your intel?"

Soldier looked up, startled. "How do you know about that?"

"Lawrence told me."

"Of course he did," Medic muttered. He shared a long-suffering look with Heavy and sighed. He turned back to the expectant Lizzie. "Elizabeth, if you would give us a moment to discuss, bitte."

Lizzie considered this, nodded, and stood. She and Christian disappeared into the kitchen, but not before Christian treated the mercenaries to a level look. The instant they disappeared around the corner Medic swung back to his fellow REDs. "Now then…this certainly puts us in a new predicament. Vhat should we do?"

"She knows too much to be lied to." Heavy said at once.

Demoman nodded and groaned. "Leave it to Mundy to spill the beans on our secret operation. How much should we tell her, then? We shouldn't worry her…"

"She's Australian, DeGroot, not Canadian," Soldier reminded Demoman, his tone patient. "She can handle this. I say we tell her everything."

"Und I say you are a fool," Medic snapped. "Vhat will we gain by telling her everything?"

"Her trust," Heavy said quietly.

This brilliantly simple response caught Medic off-guard. He blinked and frowned in sudden consideration. Demoman and Soldier both looked to Heavy for more explanation.

"We are strangers here." Heavy continued. "Strangers who will not earn the trust of Australians easily. We need someone who knows this land. Who better than Sniper's sister and friend? I know you do not like it, doktor—" Heavy's voice lowered "—but we cannot do this alone."

"You make an excellent argument, Heavy, as usual." Medic sighed and scratched at his five-o'-clock shadow. "Very well."

They recalled Lizzie and Christian into the empty bar, and proceeded to tell them everything—or, at the very least, everything they knew. Christian collapsed into a chair beside Lizzie, but she stayed still and stoic throughout the story of the destruction of Teufort. Her only giveaway was when she slid her hand under the table and gave Christian's hand a tight squeeze.

Finally the REDs fell silent. They waited patiently for Lizzie to burst out laughing, to call them liars, to get angry with them, or something. Anything to confirm how ridiculous an army of robots must have sounded to a civilian.

To their collective astonishment, however, Lizzie visibly relaxed. Her shoulders slumped and she grinned. "Robots." To hear her say it, it was the most logical thing in the world. "Robots! Christian, did you hear that!"

"I heard." Christian was more wary; he didn't smile and he kept his eyes steady on Medic. He wrenched his suspicious gaze away to meet Lizzie's eyes. He leaned over, whispering something in her ear.

Lizzie frowned and whispered something back. Christian grimaced and shrugged. He eased back, rubbing at the back of his neck. "So," he breathed out, "can we ask you a question?

Medic's eyes narrowed but Heavy nodded.

"How, er, how did—how did Mundy and Phil take these robots? What was their reaction?"

"Spy wanted to run." Soldier scowled. "He wanted nothing to do with the firefight, the damn coward."

"And Mundy?" Christian pressed.

"He does whatever Spy tells him to do." Soldier spat to the side—and then yelped when Demoman jabbed him in the ribs.

Demoman leaned forward, ignoring the rueful look Soldier shot him. "Mundy wanted to fight, but Spy convinced him tha' we needed to run. And a good thing we did to, or else we would've ended up as dead as the BLUs." He looked back at Soldier with a deep frown. "Something ye ought to keep in mind, Sol."

"Spy wanted to get away? Absolutely?" Lizzie looked from one to the other.

"Ja. He was quite convinced we could not fight the robots." Medic saw the quick, worried glance that passed between Lizzie and Christian. He leaned forward. "Why do you ask?"

Lizzie bit her lip. Lawrence was a private man, but it wasn't like he would deliberately withhold information from his teammates. Especially something as specifically dangerous as a robot army. Philippe, on the other hand…this wasn't her secret to divulge, but it was too late to back out now. "There's something…" she uttered each word slowly, deliberately cherry-picking her words, "you ought to know. About the robots. And…about…Lawrence and—I mean, about Sniper and Spy."

The REDs leaned forward in unison.

"There's a reason…Spy knew to run…" The memory of blood blooming across Lawrence's torso made her shudder and she gasped, screwing her eyes shut against the image.

Instantly Christian gripped her shoulder with pale knuckles. As Lizzie fought to compose herself, Christian finished for her. He looked to the REDs, grim as death. "They've fought robots like these before."

…

"Excuse me—" Pauling tapped a passerby on the shoulder, putting on her best smile. "You haven't seen four men come into town, have you? A big man, a man with an eyepatch—"

The Australian stepped back, mustache bristling as he took in her American accent and ragged appearance. "Byron-Read's place." He spun around and stalked away without another word.

Bidwell arched his eyebrows. "Gotta love the locals. Friendly lot, very nice."

"Can you blame them?" Pauling asked in a low voice. She took Bidwell by the arm and steered him away, in what she hoped was the direction of Byron-Read's place. "Honestly, if we get out of town in one piece I'll consider us lucky."

Bidwell hummed his agreement and looked to the buildings surrounding them, searching for anything related to a Byron-Read. Pauling fell into step beside him. They walked in silence, with nothing more to say to each other. All their arguing and negotiating they'd done on the way back to town. Bidwell wanted no part of Ayers Rock, Pauling saw it as their own chance. Darling knew where both the Administrator and Saxton Hale were, Pauling argued, and they needed him, no matter how much of a snake in the grass he was. Bidwell had countered again and again with the fact that they wouldn't do anyone any good if they got killed in an Australium mine. They should search for other, saner options before jumping to Darling's inane request, Bidwell said, and Pauling had reluctantly agreed.

Now the sun was setting behind them, casting their path in red, and neither could find anything positive to say.

Suddenly Pauling stopped short and flung her arm out, catching Bidwell at the chest. He looked down at her. "What?" He followed her gaze to whatever she was staring at. "Oh."

They had found Byron-Read's place. Not by any sign or marquee, but rather by through the distinct, familiar shouts of four very pissed off mercenaries. Pauling and Bidwell exchanged looks before sprinting pell-mell for the entrance, both reaching for their concealed weapons as they burst through.

"Oi!" Christian perked up resting his chin on his hands on the bar. "Watch the door! If you break it you're paying for it!"

Pauling and Bidwell stopped dead. At the same time, so did the REDs and Lizzie. The two groups stared at each other, puzzled, and then Demoman stepped forward. "Did ye know, Pauling?" he demanded.

"Know what?" Pauling drew her hand back away from her waistline, relaxing a fraction as she saw no signs of danger.

"About Sniper and Spy!"

Pauling made a face. "Demoman, whatever Sniper and Spy are doing on their off-time is no concern of the company—"

"ABOUT SNIPER AND SPY AND THEIR BLOODY TUSSLE WITH A BUNCH OF ROBOTS!" Demoman thundered. "Did ye know?! Two years ago—in this very town—against Gray Industries?"

"They—" Pauling did a double-take. "They did what?!"

And so the whole tale had to be told all over again to Pauling and Bidwell, and by the second time around Medic and Pauling were both pacing back and forth. "Why didn't they tell us?" Pauling asked. "Why didn't they say anything?" And what's more, she thought to herself, had the Administrator known? And if she had known about Gray's robotic prototypes, why hadn't she done anything about them?

Lizzie shrugged. She and Soldier were both nursing hot cups of tea. "Lawrence would have told you, I'm sure of it. He wouldn't keep something that serious a secret…"

"I hate ta say it, Miss Lizzie," Demoman countered, "but your brother is only one half of that gruesome twosome."

"So Spy must have had a good reason, and he convinced Sniper to keep it secret." Lizzie nodded firmly as if this were the only satisfactory explanation.

Medic stopped short. He shoved his glasses up his nose as he frowned at Lizzie. "Or a selfish reason. The robots that attacked the base—they were replicas of us. Gray Mann must have had information on us. Information that would not be so easily come by…."

"I told you," Soldier growled, "you can never, ever trust a Spy!"

"NO!" Lizzie jumped to her feet. "NO! There's no way Lawrence or Phil would work for a man like that! Not after what happened! They wouldn't betray you, or each other!"

Bidwell had bummed a cigarette off of Christian, and a waft of smoke accompanied his retort. "You put far too much faith in a Spy, Miss Mundy."

"I'm not putting faith in a Spy." Lizzie ground her teeth together. "I'm putting my faith in Philippe. There has to be a reason they didn't tell you, but that's certainly not it! You weren't there! You didn't see him after—"

"After what?" Pauling stopped dead in her pacing.

Lizzie froze and slowly closed her mouth. There were something things, it seemed, that she could not reveal even under duress. She dropped back into her seat. Her shoulders slumped. "Forget it. You wouldn't understand."

Medic twitched suddenly, as if he had just been hit with an electric shock. His blue eyes lost a little of their ice as he recalled a pale and unmoving Sniper, and an equally pale Spy. "She is right. She is right." He repeated it again, more forcefully, as Soldier opened his mouth. "Spy would never work for Gray Mann. He is a conniving, condescending son of a bitch but he would not betray us—he would not betray Sniper. If Spy wanted us dead he would haff egged us on into battle, not saved our hides. I cannot believe I am saying this, but…we haff to trust him."

Demoman sighed. "Aye. What sort of a team are we if we cannot trust each other? But as soon as we see 'im again, don't think I won't beat the answers out of 'im if I have to!"

Soldier folded his arms over his chest and snorted. Clearly he remained unconvinced, until Demoman leaned over and clapped him on the shoulder. "Ye trust Pyro, don't ye, Sol?"

"Py? Of course I do! Smokey Jane is the best member of this team, aside from myself, of course."

"And who does Py trust? Enough to go with him on a moment's notice?"

"Engie."

"Yes, well, aside from Engie."

Soldier's frown deepened. The creaking gears of his mind were almost audible. "Spy." he said, a little uncertainly.

"Uh-huh. And if ye trust Py, and Py trusts Spy…"

"Then…ugh…" Soldier wrinkled his nose at the realization. "I have to trust Spy."

"Very good." Demoman patted him on the shoulder and sat back. His single eye locked on Christian. And then he tilted his head to one side, and then the other, his own mind working double-time to pay the bills. "Christian…mate…"

"Yeah?" Christian, who had been feeling a little left-out of all the goings-ons, straightened out of his slouched position.

"Sniper and Spy are only two men. How in the blazes did they take down a bunch of robots, and live ta—well, not tell us the tale?"

Christian lifted his shoulders and dropped them. "Hell if I know. All I know is they managed it. Barely."

"They must have found some weakness," Bidwell said suddenly. He crushed his spent cigarette under heel and sat forward. "Not even Gray Mann can build perfect automatons all the time."

Pauling looked from Bidwell to Christian to Demoman, excitement dawning across her features. "If we could get a look at those prototypes…see how they work…we might find something to our advantage…"

"And if we can find something to our own advantage—" Bidwell jumped to his feet "—we won't have to groveling to Darling!"

Lizzie took a sip of her tea and looked across the bar to Christian. She raised her eyebrows. Christian caught the look and shook his head. Lizzie's eyebrows sank and she pressed her lips together in a hard line. Christian rolled his eyes at the look and help up his hands in a "FINE!" gesture. Lizzie, pleased, sat back.

Christian came around the bar and cleared his throat to get the attention of everyone in the room. "You want to break into the old GI factory?" He puffed his chest out. "I can help you there."

…

"Bianca! Right on time!"

Bianca stopped short as she entered Engineer's workshop, steaming coffee mug in hand. "Mister Conagher…what are you…"

Engineer rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He was in a very good mood, all things considered. "How many times have I told you in the past few days? Mister Conagher was my father. You can call me Dell. Now come over here and help me out!"

"Mister—Dell…" Bianca stepped fully into the workshop and set the coffee mug down. She hesitated as she looked over the struggling Engineer. "How can I be of assistance to you?"

Engineer was currently tangled up in a mess of wires and bits, putting the finishing touches on a metallic head and torso. It was a rudimentary thing—with the proper time he might have made something much more impressive—but it served its purpose. Engineer shoved his goggles up his forehead as he stared up at Bianca. "Well don't just stand there gawkin' like a turkey on Thanksgiving! Get over here!"

"Right away, sir!" Bianca stepped carefully through the mess of tools and wires and scrap metal over to Engineer. She knelt down beside him, careful to smooth out her skirt. She looked over the robotic half-skeleton in admiration. "What do you need me to do?"

"First—" Engineer held up a gloved finger "—I need you to stop callin' me 'sir'. Next I need you to put your finger right there." He tapped his finger to the base of the skeleton's neck. "Wiring is giving me trouble."

When Bianca paused, he chuckled. "It ain't gonna shock you, I swear."

"I'm not scared of getting shocked, Mister—Dell," Bianca replied with a sniff. "I was just admiring your craftsmanship, that's all." With a trace of fear she pressed her finger to the base of the skeleton's neck.

"Ah. Well then, thank you kindly. Now then…" Engineer scooted around to the front of the skeleton, lifting up its chin to study the mass of the wires underneath. "See that green wire?"

"Yes."

"Does it jiggle when I do this?" He started jerking the chin back and forth.

The green wire jiggled underneath her perfectly manicured finger. Bianca nodded. "Yes!"

"Damn. It's always the green wires. Why? Why is it always the green wires? I tell you what, I'm gonna stop using green wires once and for all…" Engineer fell away into mutters as he stood up and rifled through his equipment for what he needed.

Bianca followed suit. "What do you need this for?"

"Need an accurate model before I can start slapping life-extenders onto people." Engineer squinted at a wingnut, scowled, and tossed it over his shoulder. It landed with a clatter in the mess. "Call it a test run."

"I see. And how's it coming?"

"Fine, fine. Just need to fix that wiring, or else the whole nerve endings simulation is gonna go up in smoke. And I mean that literally." Engineer glanced over his shoulder. "Last time I turned it on it caught fire."

"It—it did what?!"

"Just a little one," Engineer assured her, "not enough to make a real mess. 'sides, Pyro taught me how to put out a little fire right quick. Came in handy when dealing with the BLU Pyro…" His smile fell away, his face crumpled, and the excited light in his eyes dimmed. For a moment he folded into himself, a kind of deep and inescapable grief overtaking him.

His sudden shift did not escape Bianca. She cleared her throat and stepped backwards. "I think I'll be going, then…"

"Wait!" Engineer spun around to face her. "Wait—I, uh, I…I need one more thing from ya, if y'all don't mind."

Bianca folded her hands together in front of her. "Your wish is my command."

"Argh…" Engineer rubbed at the back of his neck. "This is gonna sound stupid."

"I have a younger brother, sir, I'm quite used to stupid." Bianca smiled thinly.

"Could you just—stay? For a little bit longer. I know, I know, I'm a grown man and mercenary at that, but…even mercs get lonely." Engineer sighed. "Whenever I was working on some contraption or another Pyro would always sit in my workshop with me. We'd talk and joke and Pyro would eventually set fire to something, but it was good company. And if Py wasn't around…" Engineer smiled sadly, the look in his eyes far away. "It was always another one. Demo or the doc need tune-ups on their weapons, Down Under's van is acting up again, Scout wants to use one of my sentries as a baseball pitching machine, Sol wants to use my scrap metal to make everyone medals…an Engineer never gets a minute of peace, I swear."

Bianca glanced around at the vast workshop. Despite all its tools and machinery, it did feel empty. And then there was the silence—the great, gaping silence of the facility that could swallow you whole if you weren't careful. A small hint of sympathy—the barest bit, only a sliver—stirred her. "As you wish."

She hopped up onto a workbench, content to watch Engineer work for a time. He seemed happier just have the company, and of his own accord began to tell her tales of his time with the REDs, only half of which she believed. It was one thing to mount turret guns on a camper van for a joke, another that Respawn turned your teammate into a child.

Now that he had an audience again, it seemed impossible to get Engineer to shut up. "It was like having a little brother around. A very bratty, energetic little brother. 'Course, Scout's that way no matter what size he is…it was a crash course for me, y'know, in babysitting. Never had much in the way of family. There were cousins—distant cousins—one even wound up with an engineering degree same as me! But no immediate family. No brothers. Lonely life for a kid…and what about you?"

"Hm?" Bianca blinked out of her reverie. "Sorry?"

"Y'all got a kid brother."

"Yes."

Something about her curt, cold response brought Engineer up short. He leaned around the torso to stare at her. "Oh dear. Mind if I pry?"

"Pry into what? Oh! Oh." Bianca shifted and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, there's just not much to pry into. He and I don't get along, that's all."

"Ah." Engineer went back to work. After a moment he ventured further. "Why?"

Bianca stared at him, hard, and bit her lip. When Engineer glanced back her with blue eyes honest and clear, she decided it was safe to let loose everything she had been ruminating on for years. "He's a little idiot, who's never done anything productive in his life. He's a total waste of space, and my father has only kept him around this long because he might have some use. Might. He's only my half-brother, mind you. A total bastard, in both senses of the word, and if my father ever decides to recognize him—god forbid—as a Mann, guess who gets bumped backwards in the line of inheritance, because tradition dictates that a male heir stands to inherit all?"

Engineer stood and made his way around the torso, tapping on its chest. "So…you're jealous of him."

Bianca stared at Engineer in complete disbelief. Suddenly she was regretting saying anything. "I don't see how you got jealousy out of that. Anger, yes. Hatred, perhaps. Frustration most certainly…"

"You're jealous of your kid brother and the off-chance that he might snatch away everything you've ever worked for, despite not having done a damn thing for it in his life," Engineer replied succinctly. He still hadn't taken his eyes off his makeshift robot. "Have you, erm, brought up any of these concerns of yours to your father?"

"Yes, yes." Bianca waved her hand around. "And he assures me that that's not going to happen. Bla—"

"And your kid brother? Have you said anything to him?"

This brought Bianca up short. "And why would I do that? Especially when he's the cause of all my troubles?"

Engineer gave her an askance look of amusement. "Strictly speaking, Miss Bianca, as a man who never had siblings but grew to love a group of men like brothers, y'all might find that siblings don't want to hurt each other intentionally…usually. Maybe he might be willing to share this inheritance with y'all, especially if he's as lack-wit as you claim."

"Doubly so," Bianca said, but the claim was suddenly halfhearted. She had never considered talking to the little moron, and now that Engineer was presenting her with the option it sounded…shockingly simple. Then she scowled. "But it's too late for that."

Engineer rolled his eyes. "Bianca, as a man who put mounted machine gun turrets on a camper van and then didn't get his ass covered on the battlefield for a week, let me be the first to tell you it's never too late to reconcile with family. You're young yet. Save stubbornness for us old geezers."

The skeleton torso jerked and shuddered to life, whirring softly and pulsating with artificial life. Engineer patted his skeleton on head with a sad smile. "There now. When this is all over maybe you can use it as a Halloween decoration."

….

Thud.

Thud.

Thud. The dull, rhythmic sound carried through the breakroom of Gray's secret facility.

It might have surprised some that Gray even provided a breakroom for his stooges, but even Gray Mann had to abide by labor laws. It was a very nice breakroom, for Gray spared no expense. There were a handful of couches and chairs, a vending machine, and a record player spinning silently, the needle lifted off of the Frank Sinatra album in the turntable. A television set in one corner was permanently tuned to an Australian news channel, where a good-looking anchor droned on and on about international politics.

Giancarlo paid it no mind. He shifted his stance, rolled his shoulders back, and tightened his grip on the blade in his left hand. He lolled his head around his neck, eyes focused on the target pinned to the wall.

Thud.

The knife buried itself deep into the one of the target's outer rings. Giancarlo grunted, frowned, and retrieved another throwing knife. A number of them already littered the floor in front of the target. Giancarlo frowned, adjusted his robotic grip on the knife's hilt, and tried again.

Thud.

This knife hit closer to the center and Giancarlo bared his teeth in satisfaction. "Soon," he said.

Bianca was tucked into one corner of a couch, her legs curled up into her. She flicked a page of the magazine she was reading, hardly paying attention to her husband. "Huh?"

"Soon." Thud. "I'll be able to throw again." Thud. "Very soon."

At that Bianca looked up. Giancarlo was staring at the target, knife dangling loosely from his fingertips. Her expression softened. Of all the things the faulty Respawn had cost Giancarlo, the loss of his left hand—his dominant hand—had been the most traumatizing. Delmond's robotic appendage had alleviated most of the issues of being an amputee, but some fine motor skills still needed practice.

Namely, Giancarlo's knife skills.

The breakroom's metallic door slid open and in stepped Gray. He stopped short, looking from one preoccupied subordinate to the other. When neither acknowledged his presence, he frowned and coughed softly. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards as Bianca jumped to her feet and Giancarlo slowly spun around.

Gray quirked an eyebrow. "I've heard from the Viper."

Giancarlo's eyes flickered over Gray's shoulder as if he was expecting the Viper to appear at any second. When the classically-trained Spy did not materialize, he looked back to Gray. "And?"

"He has engaged the Sniper's team."

Gears clanked and whirred softly, giving away Giancarlo's racing heart even as his face stayed blank. "Already? He's given himself away already? What sort of idiot—"

"He was scouting them out." Gray replied. His pale gray eyes roved over Giancarlo, taking in every minute twitch and tremor. "Testing their weaknesses. Something that you might have done well do to."

Giancarlo's grip on his knife tightened. "So I trust he found their weaknesses, eh?"

"Oh yes," Gray said softly. His eyes lifted over Giancarlo. "I daresay he did."

Giancarlo stared at him, leaning forward slightly as though straining to catch something else, something Gray had not said. Gray waited for Giancarlo's soft growl before looking back to him. "It's the Sniper. Kill him and the rest will crumple."

"NO!" Giancarlo's knife clattered to the floor. "No. I told the Viper I wanted him alive—"

"He lives, yet." Gray walked over to the vending machine, brushing off Giancarlo's outrage as easily as he might a report of rain.

"You promised me the Australian." Giancarlo followed Gray to the vending machine. He stopped beside him, seething. "He is mine to kill, not the Viper's."

Gray fed a dollar into the machine, eyes locked on the snack array. His stance was relaxed, but when he spoke again there was an iron edge to his voice. "I appreciate your dogmatic persistence to revenge, Giancarlo, truly I do. But I will not see my entire operation jeopardized by your petty need to…what was it? Slice him up, layer by layer? Macabre, I assure you, but ultimately futile."

A candy bar clanked out of the machine. Gray bent to retrieve it, and when he straightened again Giancarlo was inches from him. "Tell the Viper he's a fool. In those exact words."

"Better a wise fool than a foolish wise man." Gray sidestepped Giancarlo easily. "If you have any suggestions to make that would make this scheme run smoother, do it now instead of sulking like a petulant child."

"It's the Spy you need to kill first," Giancarlo said as he stalked back over to his modest pile of throwing knives. "He and the Sniper are partners. Take him out and the Sniper stands no chance. And if the Sniper stands no chance, then neither do the rest."

"Yes." Gray's reply was so cold the temperature in the room plummeted. "Because targeting the Spy first worked out so marvelously for you last time. Your inability to learn from your mistakes astounds me, really it does. A group is only as good as its strongest member, not its weakest. Take out the weak and you still have the strong to deal with. Take out the strong…"

Giancarlo muttered something under his breath in Italian and turned away.

Gray unwrapped his candy bar. "I'm sure the Viper will do his best to honor your contract, but if the Sniper dies in the crossfire you must promise me you will be a professional about it."

"I promise."

"Swear it."

"Nel nome del Padre, del Figlio, e dello Spirito Santo!" Giancarlo snapped. "Te lo giuro!"

If Giancarlo's half-baked attempt at an oath annoyed Gray, he didn't let it show. Instead he inclined his head. "Very good. Now, as to the matter of the rest—"

"They're in town."

"So they are. And you are not in town with them because…? If I recall correctly, you promised to handle them."

"And if I recall correctly," Giancarlo rejoined, "you told me to wait and see what they found. I'm waiting. Besides, it's not like I'm exactly an inconspicuous fellow in town, eh?" He held up his left hand, fingers creaking as he flexed them.

"Don't take your vitriol out on me. It's your own fault you wound up this way." Gray turned on his heel to leave.

Bianca cleared her throat, reminding both men she was still in the room. "Any word on Blake?"

Gray paused in the threshold. "He was injured when the Viper struck. If he's to be believed, Blake Porter is as good as dead." The door swished shut as he walked out.

Bianca slumped back down into the couch. A cold, acrid piece of bile rose up in her throat, leaving a horrid taste in her mouth. Swallowing hard to dispel it, she looked back to Giancarlo, who was looking at her oddly. "What?"

"I thought you didn't care for the boy." Giancarlo frowned. He took up his previous position some feet away from the target.

"I don't." Bianca took extra special care to keep her voice neutral. "He's a little idiot, and bound to get himself killed in the company of actual professionals. I was just curious, that's all. Although," she said, half to herself, "Gray is as big an idiot as Blake if he thinks the boy will do something as simple as die."

"Si." Giancarlo studied the knife in his hand. "As good as dead is not the same thing as dead."

Thud.

I'm fond of Giancarlo in a way that you probably shouldn't be when it comes to bitchy Italian cyborg assassins with knife fetishes.

Translations:

"Nel nome del Padre, del Figlio, e dello Spirito Santo!" : "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit!"

"Te lo giuro!" : "I swear it to you!"

(Translations, huh! Those are new.)