I've got so many ideas for these chapters I can't write them fast enough! Also, we're coming close to wrapping up...all that pesky traveling/road tripping. Thanks again for the reviews/follows/favs/reading this far!
"They're regrouping."
Helen snuffed a cigarette in the ash tray in the monitor room. She flicked a stray ash from her sleeve, "And?"
Gray leaned closer to the set of monitors tracking the mercs, "And, they're probably getting their memory back. I wasn't expecting it to take so long to decipher respawn. I only designed the devices to last two years."
Helen walked briskly up to Gray. Quickly, her eyes scanned the monitors. After spending years of watching the RED vs BLU battles, she'd learned to pick up information from screens as quickly as possible.
On the center console, three groups of two red dots were congregated in France, New York and Georgia. Two dots stood alone, one in Louisiana and the other in Northern Mexico.
Gray tapped the dots in France, "That's Heavy and Soldier. There, on Long Island is Spy and Medic. The traveling two are Demoman and Scout..."
"Sir."
Gray and Helen turned to find the rusting Mecha Engineer leaning against the back wall of the control room.
"What is it?" Gray snapped.
"We have solved it."
Gray cocked his head slightly, "Solved it? Solved wha-oh! You're certain?"
The Engineer beeped, "Yes."
Gray walked behind the Mecha Engineer and yanked its memory card from its head. The bot looked about the room, hopelessly confused. Gray moved to the front of the bot. On its chest was an access panel containing its motherboard. He ripped the board from it and the bot crumpled to the floor. Without a brain, it was just a useless metal husk.
"Now that's taken care of," Gray said, "I can finally switch to my new model."
On his workbench lay a gleaming new Mecha Engineer.
Gray clipped the old memory card to the engineer's information retrieval port, "You can wake up now."
The engineer's eyes lit up. It hummed softly as it stood and processed the new information, "Data retrieved; respawn... I am ready to finish the plan."
Gray returned to the monitors, "Excellent," keeping his eyes on the screen, he spoke to Helen, "While he's doing that, there's a certain Pyro I'd like to pay a visit to."
On a separate set of monitors, a small batch of new robots sparked to life.
A bolt clicked and the caged man braced himself for the upcoming interrogation. The man who stepped through the door was not who the prisoner expected. He was only a few years younger than the prisoner and deathly nervous. His blue eyes flittered about the room, trying hard to focus on anything but the prisoner. Shakily, the interrogator made his way to a chair before the prisoner. After fumbling with the switch and trigger for several minutes, the thin interrogator finally activated the electric generator.
Nervously, he cleared his throat, "A-Allo."
"Bonjour," the prisoner replied, taking careful note of his interrogator's nervous ticks.
"G-good, y-you can speak. T-tell me, wh-what is your name?"
The prisoner smirked. This was much too easy. The man lacked confidence and composure. He was a dog expecting a beating from his master; submissive, timid, and stuck in a state of constant fear.
"John Smith," the prisoner replied.
The interrogator frowned and smoothed back his thick black hair, "N-no, no, your real name please."
Despite his tight restraints, the prisoner reclined in his chair.
"John Doe," he said.
The interrogator's frown turned to a look better resembling despair.
"N-no," he stuttered, "I s-s-said g-give me y-your r-rr-real name!"
The prisoner saw his chance. The other man's nerves were frayed. It hadn't really taken much to break him, he was clearly a fragile person. Without hesitation, the prisoner took his opportunity to finish off the interrogator's will.
The prisoner shook his head, "You're just a child, aren't you?"
"N. N. N-no. I'm not a child." The interrogator said as he shrank into his chair.
"Please," the prisoner scoffed as he pressed his advantage of composure, "look at yourself, you're pathetic. S-stuttering about, cowering. You can't even look me in the eye can you?"
At this, the interrogator closed his eyes and scrunched his face in concentration. The prisoner waited a moment before switching to a 'convince' tactic.
"Come on boy, walk away," the prisoner said, "take the easy route and save yourself the embarrassment. I'm not worth your time or your sanity."
"Viktor!" A German voice shouted over the intercom, "Don't listen to him, you can do it! He does not control you, he is not the master!"
The prisoner, understanding German, countered the intercom's claim. "No, you're not the master, you never will be. You're a child, there will always be people stronger than you, smarter than you, better than you. Give up. You're not strong enough to go through with this. You don't have the stomach to interrogate me because you know that you will never control me and I will never submit to you."
"Viktor, he's lying to you! You'll be fine. Just. Take. Control."
Viktor whimpered softly and pulled his legs up under his chin. He clapped his hands over his ears and rocked slowly back and forth.
The prisoner examined the situation and stopped talking. The voice over the intercom continued to preside over Viktor. However, the prisoner saw this as a time to stop. He recognized that Viktor was close to being pushed too far, and if he got there, he could become unpredictable.
Finally, Viktor snapped. He shot from his chair and stood, panting heavily.
"Shut up!" he screamed, "Both of you shut up! Stop judging me! Stop telling me what to do! Stop treating me like a child! This is my interrogation, my test subject and my life!"
The prisoner pressed himself against his chair as Viktor turned up the generator so the band on the prisoner's arm practically cracked with electricity.
Viktor poised his thumb over the electric trigger.
"You," he yelled, "tell me your name!"
"I-" the prisoner started.
Viktor tapped the trigger and a horrible, white hot pain shot through the prisoner's arm. He'd been electrocuted before, but never at this magnitude. It felt like someone was running a hot knife over his skin. Involuntarily, he let out a small scream.
"Give me your name now!"
"Phillippe Picaro," the prisoner said, voice wavering as he gave the false name. He realized that now was not the time to mess with the German. Every sign of the man's body informed the prisoner he was angered beyond reason. His posture was erect, his shoulders were back, his muscles were tense, and his face was contorted so that even the streaks of tears running down his face looked angry.
"What were you doing impersonating an SS in Auschwitz last month?"
The prisoner held his tongue. There was no way he'd give up his mission. "I'm not going to tell you that," he said simply.
Viktor held the trigger for a mere two seconds. The extra time hurt more than the last. It felt as if a million tiny needles were being run into his arm from his elbow to his shoulder.
Viktor didn't stop there though, "Tell me!" he shouted.
"No." The prisoner said in a weaker voice than before.
The prisoner let out another cry of agony as electricity shot through his body. This time was exactly like the last, but it didn't hurt any less. He screamed in agony and writhed violently against his restraints.
"Tell me!" Viktor screamed.
"No." The prisoner said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Viktor's body extended to its full height. With all the sympathy gone from his eyes, he held down the electric trigger and didn't stop. The pain started out simple, then it grew and spread. It moved from his arm into his chest. It started off like a knife then intensified. Soon, it felt as if razor legged insects were running up and down the left side of his body, lacerating his skin, destroying his muscle and shredding his veins. And worst of all, he wouldn't pass out. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how his brain screamed for it all to stop, he stayed awake. At first, he fought. He fought as hard as he could against the heavy leather straps binding him to the chair, but the pain took all his strength. Soon, he gave up and pleaded. He'd never felt so weak or pathetic in his life, but the prisoner pleaded. He pleaded for his life and for Viktor to stop.
He cried too. Anything to get him to stop. Anything to get the pain to stop. Anything...anything...
Heavy awoke in the middle of the night to someone screaming. All the doors were thick, so the sound was soft and muffled, but Heavy was a light sleeper. He had been ever since Zhanna was born. Once upon a time, he'd wake up in the middle of the night to her crying and would go to her. Usually it was because she'd had a bad dream, other times, it was because she wanted to see her brother. Either way, Heavy would get up, walk down the hall and comfort her, as he did now with the screaming man.
As quietly as he could, Heavy made his way down the smooth, wood floored hallway and up to the source of the noise. Without hesitation, he opened the door of the room. Inside, he could hear the screams clearly. Whatever the reason for them, they were screams of pain broken only by sharp intakes of breath. Instinctually, Heavy moved to the bed, scooped up the screaming man in his arms and held him.
The man thrashed violently against the constraint before settling down. Heavy didn't really know who he was holding, but it didn't matter. Gently, he held the man tight until he calmed down and his breathing fell into regular intervals. Without looking down, Heavy felt the man's head raise.
"Heavy?"
Instantly, he identified the voice as Spy's. His tone was soft and his voice barely rose above a whisper.
"Heavy, what are you doing?" He said slowly.
Heavy considered the question. He'd come to Spy's side thinking more of his younger sisters and how they had once needed his help when they had bad dreams.
"You were having terrible dream and needed help."
Spy attempted to pry himself out of Heavy's grasp, but the Russian was too strong.
"I'm fine Heavy, I don't need your help." His voice faltered and fell on the last word.
Heavy sat on the edge of the bed, still holding Spy in his arms. He didn't understand why Spy felt the need to act strong and indifferent all the time. Medic was one of the strongest people Heavy knew, and even he had to break down into fits of rage from time to time. As for Spy, Heavy didn't know how the man coped with his emotions. Then again, maybe he didn't.
"You do not have to be strong all the time," Heavy said.
Spy once again tried to wiggle from Heavy's grasp. Yet again though, he was unable to escape Heavy, especially since his arms were bound by Heavy's hold.
"Put me down," he mumbled.
Heavy ignored the request, "Tell me about dream."
Spy finally managed to free his arms. He hauled himself from Heavy's grip and fell lightly to the floor. Straightening the collar on his silk night wear, Spy stood and glared at Heavy.
"Leave," he ordered.
Heavy folded his arms and gave Spy a bored expression.
"What, in dream, was hurting you?"
Spy straightened his posture and allowed a look of mild frustration to appear on his face.
"Leave, now."
Heavy stood so he towered over Spy. In every respect, Heavy was larger than Spy. He was taller, wider and better muscled. Yet, the smaller man did not waver, even as Heavy looked down at him.
"I will go, but only if you answer two questions."
Spy considered the offer and decided it was best to get the Russian from his room as quickly as possible.
"Alright."
"Did you have bad dream?"
"Yes."
Heavy chose his next words carefully. He didn't want Spy to refuse to answer. He went with the simplest form of the question.
"Were you scared?"
Spy lowered his eyes to the floor so he wouldn't have to look at Heavy.
"Yes," he said quietly, "Now get out."
Heavy nodded and left the room. Then, just behind him, he heard the lock click shut.
A soft alarm beeped and the doors to the underground train slid open. Soldier was the first to bolt out the door into the above ground station. At first, he thought he'd made it to America, but something was off. The streets outside didn't look right. There was a bike rental area outside the station and people moved about the parking lot in what appeared to be a normal fashion. Then, Soldier realized the problem.
Nearly none of the people around him were speaking American.
Soldier glared at the surrounding area, "Dammit."
Obviously the trains in this 'Europe' country were broken. They did not make it to America as they should. He needed a new plan of action. There must have been some mode of transportation that would lead him to America…but what? There had to be something he was overlooking. Some small detail he'd missed or forgotten about.
He'd already thought of boats and airplanes, and the train hadn't worked out very well. However, there was still one thing he hadn't thought of; taxies. There was nothing more American than angry taxi drivers yelling at traffic and red lights. Now, all he had to do was find one of the glorious yellow cars and he'd be off to America.
Soldier rushed form the train station and into the cool morning air. He was happy to be back on his feet and running. He knew he would eventually find a taxi, but he might was well enjoy the run while he was at it.
The surrounding buildings were a mix of old and new. Intricate stone pillars mixed with parking meters and street lamps. The old brick streets held a wide selection of cars and scooters. Larger, aged trees stood from planters adjoining young saplings. Yes, this place was far from being American.
While enjoying the run, Soldier nearly crashed into a group of people lingering on the sidewalk. Soldier bowed his head and swerved to avoid them. Then, he stopped dead in his tracks. He turned abruptly on his heels and rubbed his eyes. What he was seeing couldn't be real. Miss. Pauling, Heavy and Engineer were waiting around a shop with a name Soldier couldn't read. Cautiously, he snuck up on Heavy and jabbed his arm.
Heavy turned sharply with his fist raised. When he saw Soldier, his face changed from anger to surprise, "Soldier?"
"Yes sir!"
Miss. Pauling perked up from her slouched position, "Soldier! How'd you get here?"
Soldier stood straighter, "I took the train."
Miss. Pauling frowned, "The trai….never mind. We almost have the whole team, well, half the team."
Soldier looked around at the small group, "Are these all the men you've gathered?"
Engineer shook his head, "Nope. Medic an Spy are in the pharmacy. Medic thinks Spy might be sick."
"And he is," Medic said as he strode from the pharmacy, "vell, sort-of. I don't think its anything serious. It should go avay fairly soon zhough because I think its an after effect of having his memory restored as the experience seems to affect all of us differently. I svear Heavy must have hugged me at least ten times last night."
A slight blush washed over Heavy's face, "At least I was not trying to kill furniture."
Medic grumbled something incomprehensible under his breath, "Sure…How did it affect you Herr Soldier?"
Soldeir crossed his arms. He wasn't really sure what Medic was talking about, but he was fairly certain it had to do with mission, "It affected me by reminding me that I need to get to America."
"Right," Miss. Pauling said, "America. Which we need to get too, soon. We've got enough people to take on Gray now. It's worth a shot... Oh and, uh, Medic, where's Spy?"
Spy stumbled a bit as he exited the pharmacy. His hair was ruffled and fly away and his suit crumpled at the edges. His skin was unnaturally pale, but he held a stern expression on his face, "I'm right here…Soldier?"
The American stood at attention, "I am here and ready to go home."
Heavy unfolded his arms and moved toward the car, "Heavy is ready for home too. I will drive, I know where airport is."
Spy pressed his cool palm to his warm temple, "Yes, the sooner we return to America, the better. I'm done with France."
In the upcoming chapters; Pyro, Sniper, the reveal of the new robots, plenty of fish, and Engineer having to make difficult decisions! Stay tuned.