Author's Note: You guys are waaay too good for my ego. I shall have difficulty getting through doors soon, and I like it. Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows, favourites and reads. Keep 'em coming, and I shall reply to every single one, I promise.
Did you know there's a TV Tropes entry called 'Send In The Clones'? Not surprisingly, this story has used that trope a few million times.
The image for this chapter is over at sanctuscecidit deviantart com as per usual. Enjoy!
Send In The Clones: Part One
Chapter Nine: Dancing with Despair
When Heavy left the RED base late that night, he was starting to feel like he ought to write a list of the people he wanted to punch in the guts, to make sure he didn't miss any of them out. Let's see...Demo, Scout (just for being generally annoying), the new Medic of course, Engineer for trying to cheer him up, the BLU Soldier for obvious reasons, the Violet Spy...the Administrator? Maybe not. He didn't think he had it in him to punch a woman. Anyway, he'd never met her. How about the Mann brothers? Yes, that sounded a good idea, and of course, the next one on his list...the BLU Medic.
When he reached the pump house, little seams of light streaked out around the battered blinds. He heard a brief, muffled cough.
"Doktor." He said, stepping into the small, greasy room.
The BLU Medic snapped an orange-covered book shut and looked up, giving the larger man a tight, fleeting smile. As he stood, Heavy's fist swung round and buried itself in his stomach, making the man double up with a grunt.
I can tick that one off my list now.
Medic staggered sideways and reached out to lean against the wall, panting for a moment before straightening up. To Heavy's surprise, he gave a wheezing, breathless laugh, waving a hand in greeting.
"I vill admit I deserved zhat." He gasped, clutching his abdomen but still chuckling slightly. "You should be feeling mostly recovered by now, I hope?"
"Da." Heavy said shortly, feeling oddly cheated.
"I am razher surprised your Medic let you out of zhe infirmary." He commented, slipping and then sitting down suddenly with a slight groan. "I vould have kept you under..."
"...Observation for twenty-four hours. He wanted to, but I threw him into wall."
"You did?" The BLU Medic raised an eyebrow questioningly, just the way Gustav would have done. "I presume you had good reason?"
"He insulted Sasha and threw away sandwich."
At least this man knew how serious that was. His eyes widened in horrified shock for a moment before his lips narrowed in a gleeful smile. "I alvays knew he was an idiot. I hope he was badly hurt?"
"You don't like him?"
"He is a freak." Medic spat. "He should not be here. Twenty-Nine-B should be here."
"And they killed him."
"Ja." Medic replied heavily. "Zhey killed him. And zhat is only zhe start of it. I don't zhink you realise yet just how dangerous zhis situation is. How long have you vorked for RED?"
"Hmm?" Heavy blinked, confused at the sudden change in direction. From past experience, he knew this could mean the doctor was about to go off on a completely unrelated tangent. Trying to get him back on subject was often next to impossible. "Four years."
"Zhen you are four years old." Medic stated flatly. "I have only been alive for eight monzhs now. Zhat new Medic of yours? He vill only be, vhat? 30 days old, I would estimate. Ve are created as ve are needed, and given somevone else's memories. A head full of lies."
"I know this." Heavy said, however, hearing it spelt out to him like that was still shocking. Four years old...I can't be only four years old. It's ridiculous...it can't... He found himself remembering how many times he had taunted the enemy team and called them babies. It didn't seem quite so funny now.
"Zhat is not the vorst bit, zhough." He continued seriously. He stood up and his hand clutched at Heavy's broad arm earnestly. "Do you know how often zhey kill off clones vhen zhey don't need zhem any more? All. Zhe. Time. I have been zhreatened due to...apparently underperforming, as you know. Your Medic was killed because of vhat ve found out. Zhat vould be bad enough, but zhat is only zhe beginning!"
"What..."
"Zhe Violet Spy and zhe Administrator have made it very clear." The BLU Medic said, his eyes staring manically into Heavy's. "An individual mercenary not pulling zheir veight, zhey die. Somevone vanting to retire, zhey die. A team losing constantly- zhe team is killed. I assume zhat is vhat happened to zhe last RED team here. Zhe Administrator told me today zhat if zhere is any sign zhat I have told anyone vhat I know, she vill kill us all. Every single RED and BLU!"
"You are sure?" Heavy asked. It seemed impossible. That kind of thing didn't happen in America, surely? America was supposed to be safe!
"Zhey vill go to any lengths, commit any atrocity, to protect zhis secret and keep us fighting. Ve are replaceable. Ve are disposable. Ve are nozhing to zhem, just...chess pieces, und I don't even know vhy." Medic threw his arms wide in frustration.
"Gustav, you..." Heavy stopped and clamped his strong jaw shut, realising what he had just said.
The man stared at him for a second and started laughing. It was not a pleasant laugh. It was sharp and desperate- the laugh of someone dancing with despair. Heavy realised that this man was not truly insane- he was eccentric, cracking at the edges, yes, but he was not broken. Instead, he was carrying a terrible burden of knowledge that would have driven most people into a screaming, twitching heap. And being kept as a severed head for a few days couldn't have helped...
"Gustav! You called me Gustav!" Medic repeated between gasps. "Zhat is not my name. It vas never my name. Zhe only name I have is Twenty-Nine-C. I am not a free man, I am a number! And you are...are..."
"Nine-H," Heavy stated, "But that is not..."
"Really? Ve have a name in common. Vhat a coincidence!" The gasps of laughter turned into a coughing fit and the man scrabbled in his pocket for a handkerchief. "You...you...must..."
"Doktor, sit. Calm down." Heavy ordered, shoving the hysterical man down onto a wooden crate. There had been times before now when he had wished he could simply put a bucket over Medic's head when he got over-excited like this...as soon as he thought this, he cursed and reminded himself that this was not the man he had known as Gustav. Gustav was gone, murdered by the same people who now threatened them all, just because they were in the way. Heavy ground his teeth together until his jaw hurt. This whole situation was wrong and confusing. He shook Medic roughly, trying to get him back into some sort of lucidity.
"Entschuldigung." He spluttered between coughs. He waved a shaking hand apologetically and took a deep breath and swallowed, screwing up the handkerchief tightly in his hand, but not before Heavy noticed speckles of red on it. "It has been a difficult few veeks."
"I see that." He said slowly. "Doktor, you are right."
"Vell of course I am!" The man snapped in reply. He paused and rubbed his throat unconsciously. "Vhat about?"
"We have to stop it, all this." He replied seriously.
Medic smiled with a hint of mockery. "I zhought zhat vas overkill?"
"I changed my mind." Heavy said grimly. "What can we do?"
"Zhat is the problem." Medic admitted, his smile fading. He cleared his throat. "I have no idea. Do I leave, or stay? Vhere vill I find out more? I need money, allies, time!"
"You have ally."
There was a moment's silence before Medic looked up at him and smiled again, more warmly this time. "Danke. You may be RED, but zhat is, eh, quite a relief, actually. Zhen I...ve... have to decide what to do next."
"Well, for start," Heavy said slowly, not quite able to believe he was suggesting this, "We make sure teams lose equal amount of time. I think RED need to lose again, then BLU."
"Sehr gut." Medic said, rummaging in one of his pockets. "I zhought I had more arsenic in here somevhere..."
"Nyet!" Heavy said quickly. "I just pretend to still be bit sick."
"Are you sure you can do zhat successfully? Maybe it vould be better to tell zhem Sasha jammed during zhe fight?"
"Sasha does not jam."
"But..."
"Sasha. Does not. Jam."
"Alright, alright!" Medic said, holding his hands up appeasingly. "Far be it from me to besmirch your gun's reputation. I don't vant to be zhrown into a vall too. I just hope you are a good actor, Heavy."
"Am good actor. Hide many things."
"So I believe." Medic replied drily.
"What do you mean?" Heavy demanded, resisting the temptation to grab the man's shirt and shake him. He had pummelled enough people today outside of battle. It made life so much less complicated, though...
"RED Medic told me about you." BLU Medic replied with an amused smile. "Zhat you have a degree in Russian Literature, and you like orchestral music of zhe Romantic and Modern periods, in particular Rimsky-Korsakov and Shostakovich. You learnt English from reading smuggled books, and your written English is far better zhan your spoken grasp of zhe language. You alvays beat RED Medic at chess. He found zhat very annoying. He said you prefer to hide your intelligence, vhich seems a very odd thing to do."
"Bee stings make you very sick." Heavy replied, folding his arms and glaring down at the doctor. "You were nearly arrested in England during war. A guard came to you with broken leg and you thought he had annoying sniff, so you sewed seagull wings on his back. You tell people you lost your medical license when patient's skeleton was removed, but you don't tell them you were patient and trying experiment on yourself that went wrong..."
"It could have vorked!" Medic interrupted quickly, "Zhey stopped me before I... "
"You have very sweet tooth and love candies. You are bad chess player, but good at poker. You love music too and have good tenor voice, but you are too embarrassed to let people hear. You are very bad violin player..."
"Vhat? Who says zhat?!"
"...and you are brave and fearless, except if there is bee in room."
"Vhat?! Zhat is..." Medic paused and smiled slightly, clearing his throat. "...all absolutely true. Except for zhe violin playing. I am good at zhat. So, I suppose blackmail is out of zhe question, zhen?"
"Da." Heavy felt the corners of his mouth twitch in a smile.
The doctor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I better be heading back to zhe base. At least ve have zhe beginnings of a plan, ja?"
"Da." Heavy agreed. "I see if I hear anything and tell you. Send leetle bird for next meeting time."
"Ja, I vill." He replied with a nod. "Veekend tomorrow, so ve have some time to think vizhout getting shot at. So, RED loses on Monday, BLU on Tuesday."
"Da." Heavy agreed, but he felt a thrill of guilt all the same. Deliberately losing a fight made him feel like a traitor. Maybe he was?
"I vill speak to you soon." BLU Medic replied, nodding and then getting up and leaving the tiny damp room.
Heavy stood in the quiet room for a moment. His actions were putting eighteen people in mortal danger- did he have the right to do that?
He thought back to when he had discovered his Medic, slumped over the gurney with a suicide note in his cold hand. In the days that followed, he had tormented himself with questions, trying to see what he had missed in his beloved friend's behaviour, asking himself what he could have done to stop him, and wondering why he hadn't confided in Heavy before he had taken his own life. He had felt shocked, miserable and betrayed. He should have stopped him. He should have been there. He should have realised. How could Medic have been such a coward?
Now he knew it had all been a lie. He had found and read Medic's journal, and had realised the man had uncovered something he wasn't supposed to know about...and then suddenly died. It was obvious that this BLU Medic was now being taunted and played with as well, perhaps in hope that he'd completely crack and could be removed without suspicion. He felt his hands clench into fists.
He didn't care if his actions put other's lives in danger. It didn't matter. He wanted revenge, even if it killed him. No matter who died, he would put his hands around the Violet Spy's neck one day.
"Run, Spy, run." He muttered under his breath. "I am coming for you."
He smiled grimly. For now, he would see what he could find out. Medic was right- he did prefer to be seen as just dumb muscle, because he was not only smart, but smart enough to know it made life easier. It meant he could find out things without anyone getting suspicious. Medic understood science, yes- but he had never understood people. Heavy would listen and see what he could find out about the mercenaries' backgrounds. People spoke to him because they assumed he wouldn't remember, or was too stupid to care. It would all help lead him to this Violet team. He stretched in satisfaction, fingers scraping the ceiling, and then left the tiny room.
There was a moment's silence before Violet Spy uncloaked and smiled sourly. At last! He got out a cigarette and lit it with a relieved sigh as the spicy smoke filled his lungs. Now he had two co-conspirators, and the Teufort Administrator was doing an excellent job of making the whole situation more and more volatile. The whole base fizzed with tension and discomfort. Of course, his two erstwhile allies wanted him painfully dead, but that was par for the course for a Spy. He had never felt any need to be liked or admired.
He had no plan, of course- only fools made plans. Instead, Spy preferred to map out probable outcomes, and then figure out how he could change their most likely course to suit his own ends. So far, his little schemes had worked out well- he had left the journal for the RED Heavy to find, and captured that little white dove the Medic was so fond of and trapped it inside the RED base for the Russian to find. He was happy to admit to himself that that was a stroke of genius.
He took his French cigarette out of his mouth and blew a perfect smoke ring. As long as he could keep the two men on edge, the situation would continue to develop. There was one worry, of course: the BLU Medic's cough. Spy knew very little about medicine, beyond which parts of the body were most allergic to pointy bits of metal, so he had no idea how the man's recent adventures had resulted in that particular symptom, or whether it would get any worse. Maybe it was terminal- Spy did not know.
His lips twitched. If the BLU Medic did die...it was not necessarily a disaster. Imagine how the RED Heavy would react to that. Oh yes, that would work. It would be a shame, of course, but what was one more clone death...
Spy stopped the thought right there. No. That is how the others think. If I start seeing these people as disposable, I will be as bad as the rest of the Violets. This is a war, and people will die- but I will not waste their lives. He knew he was irrevocably committed at this point. He had vowed that the RED Medic 29/b would be the last clone he would ever kill. He had killed so many of them over the years. At first, he had accepted it, but eventually it had become discomforting, sickening, and finally, tedious.
Once he was found out, it would certainly mean his death.
He smiled sourly, smoke pouring out of his nostrils. He could live with that.
So to speak.
In Chapter Ten: Meet the Violets.
Translations:
Entschuldigung : My apologies