It is commonly known that there are little crimes and big crimes. Jaywalking is not nearly held to the same standards as first degree murder.
As with crimes, there are little details and big details. The little details can seem huge, and the big details can sometimes be hardly seen. This does not mean that they are not important; just that from your standpoint you are too close to see how big they really are.
Take for example, corporations.
Corporations are infinitely complex, running on wheels within wheels in order to be financial powerhouses. Every little worker provides their own contribution to some heaving conglomerate, able to move money and people on a scale comparable to some militaries, and the end result is an international entity that many would struggle to consider in its entirety.
Beyond the face of a corporation, an office building, and their stock value if they are public, little can be seen beyond what that corporation tells you. In some cases what you really have is a shell corporation; something that allows business transactions to take place without actually having any real assets. These can be used to contain and conceal other corporations, so that if someone was properly motivated, they could create shell corporations owning shell corporations in some bizarre rendition of a Russian nesting doll.
At the root of shell corporations is the desire to move things around beneath the sight of prying eyes, often for purposes of tax evasion. There are other benefits, however.
Billions of dollars can seem quite small when broken up into little accounts, all transferring seemingly innocent amounts of money. Behind the scenes, all those little movements can add up.
A single central corporation, hidden under layers and layers of shells, can be impossibly difficult to find for if the searcher doesn't know exactly what they are looking for. The head of such a corporation would be as elusive as smoke wisps.
Dispersed among small companies, seemingly buying and selling to each other, the movement of tons of raw materials and machinery can go unnoticed.
Red flags may only wave where there is a concentrated flurry of activity. Large movements of raw materials and money can be easily tracked; little transactions are far less noticeable.
A few grains of sand can fall here and there with little fanfare, but this action over time will move entire coastlines and raise deserts.
A few dollars here, a small shipment there… in this way, many things can be hidden.
The Administrator suspects who is meddling in her affairs. There is a strong possibility that he is dead, given that the last time anyone had heard from him was 1849. Nevertheless, the Administrator isn't the kind of person to leave any stone unturned. But by now, finding the culprit would be like looking for a sand grain when she should really be looking at the entire beach.
July, 1971
Dustbowl
RED Base
Dust collected on the floor in a thin blanket, a cover only recently broken by footprints. The air was still stale; the team had just arrived. Later, the base would start to smell of sweat, smoke, and gunpowder. Doors cracked open to allow people and supplies to flood in- enough to fight a war.
Voices echoed in the empty halls. Tomorrow, they would be voices of desperation, anger, or triumph, but today they were of laughter and camaraderie.
"An' then they all bolt[1] off like th' pansies[2] they are, and I'm playin' hidie[3] with 'em," Demoman's voice grew closer.
Engineer chuckled in response. "Yeah, you're telling me, pardner."
"Naow, everybody says tha' alcohol dunnae solve any problems, but I ain't seen any that are solved by milk. A've found in cases like that, a Molotov'll[4] sort the bastards out."
"I'm sure that Pyro would agree with ya there."
"Tha' wee zippo's great fer a Molotov. Always tricket[5] to give me a spark."
They rounded the corner to the Engineer's workshop, carrying heavy boxes and bags. Already, there was a sizeable pile of equipment and technology outside bay doors well secured by a chain. The Engineer dropped his load and reached to his belt, unlocking the door.
"Is this all of it, lad?" Demoman set his load down by the door.
Engineer tipped his hardhat at the Demoman. "Yeah, that'll do it. Thanks, pardner."
The Scot rolled his shoulders and back, spine popping. "I'll see ya at the strategy meetin' then."
"Wouldn't miss it fer anything," Engineer nodded.
He turned and threw open the wooden doors. The counters and cabinets were bare, the floors swept clean and the stools neatly tucked away. Dust motes hung softly in the air, illuminated by the narrow, high windows on the back wall. A few crates were stacked in a corner, along with some of his buildings.
As much as he hated leaving some of his babies behind when he moved on to other bases, it did give him a head start in getting ready for a battle when he returned. By now, he left a little tech behind at each base. A teleporter, maybe a turret or two, a dispenser… enough to leave something for him to start with when he returned. This meant that when he wasn't on base, his workshop was locked up tight.
Come to think of it, he hadn't updated the technology on this base for a while. With tomorrow's battle approaching, there was no time like the present.
He wheeled all of the crates inside with a dolly, setting them against the wall by the workbenches. Then he reached into his belt for a keychain, cycled through them until he found the correct one, and unlocked the first of the crates in the corner.
Behind lid number one was a turret, left at Stage One for ease of storage. Soon enough, the little guy would be getting some exercise. He hadn't needed to update turret technology in a while, so all this one should really need is a diagnostics test. He patted it affectionately, and moved on to the next box. The Engineer began unpacking the rest of the boxes, running a scrutinizing eye over little scratches in paint or scorch marks on the metal. Battle scars and war wounds, lost whenever he scrapped a machine or upgraded it.
Most battle wounds that he and his co-workers gained as part of the job vanished under the beam of a Medigun, gone like the scratches on his builds, but the Medigun could never heal afflictions within the mind. They all carried invisible scars, revealing themselves in mannerisms and habits. Like the way that the Medic flinched at the sound of static, a sure sign of a back-stabbing Spy uncloaking on the battlefield in order to strike. Or the way that sometimes, you could never tell what crazy thing Soldier was going to do next. He wondered whether the Scout just talked to inflate his own ego, or if the chatter was to distract himself. Whenever Pyro started playing with a lighter, Spy was noticeably on edge. And especially on the days they lost, the bottle was never far from Demoman's side.
In the Engineer's case, nowadays, the sight of a man in a suit put his teeth on edge. War changes a man. They all had their issues that, metaphorically speaking, a coat of paint couldn't fix.
He reached down into the crate and pulled out the teleporter. With a grunt, he hauled it onto his shoulder and carried it to a work table. With a battle approaching the paint could wait; what really needed his attention was upgrading the software inside.
The software was important. You couldn't have just any old dummy stumbling across a teleporter and stepping on it without even knowing what it was, ending up in places they shouldn't be. That kind of thing led to no end of trouble, and probably would ruin Miss Pauling's day. So the men all had codes, little signals embedded into their gear and weapons so that no matter what they were carrying or wearing they'd still be able to use the teleporters.
Those little signals were what he needed to update now, so that the new equipment they'd gotten since he was last here would register to the teleporters. With everything they used on the battlefield it would probably work fine anyways, but then he'd rather not get hell from the others on the off chance that someone using totally new gear stepped onto the platform and went nowhere.
If he scrapped the build or built it from new, it already had the updated signals embedded in the software. Unfortunately this also erased the user logs, which contained a history of who used the machine, when, and how many times, so he preferred to manually update when possible.
First, the outer plating had to come off.
He crossed the room over to the stack of boxes and crates he brought with him, and opened one of them. Then, the Engineer pulled out a microwaved sized boxy object and placed it next to the teleporter on the bench. It was a dull gray, with an inset in which a small screen and a blocky keyboard sat. He plugged it in, and watched the text flash across the screen as it booted up. As it sat, this was the latest in portable computer technology.
After a few minutes of watching the startup sequence, he started removing the teleporter's protective plating until a plug outlet was visible. By then, the computer was ready to work. He pulled the corresponding cord out from the back of the computer and plugged it into the jack.
TELEMAX INTERFACE SOFTWARE
[SCOUT] [USER LOG][EDIT]
[SOLDIER] [USER LOG][EDIT]
[PYRO] [USER LOG][EDIT]
[DEMOMAN] [USER LOG][EDIT]
[↓] [BACK][QUIT]
The Engineer reached into his toolbox and pulled out a piece of paper, containing codes for new pieces of equipment and weapons that they'd received since the last time they were at Dustbowl. He unfolded the list and placed it next to the computer.
The Scout was up first. Weapons tended to be issued at random, and often the items themselves seemed random at times. Everyone on base always knew when Scout got a new weapon- loudly and as soon as possible. The Engineer wasn't one to complain about getting an extra edge on the enemy, but he didn't think that fighting with a cleaver was what the saying meant. He selected Scout's entry, and started editing it.
TELEMAX INTERFACE SOFTWARE
[SCOUT]
[EDIT]
[WEAPONS]
[COSMETICS]
[TOOLS]
[BACK]
A faint whistle shrieked outside, signaling the departure of the train. It would only be a matter of time before someone started blowing stuff up. He hoped that it was Soldier; he had a bet going with Medic on that score.
TELEMAX INTERFACE SOFTWARE
[SCOUT]
[WEAPONS][EDIT][NEW ENTRY]
[{SCRIPT:tf_weapon_prep_brawler_blaster} {ID:76561197970342156|916900541}]
[{SCRIPT:tf_weapon_atomizer} {ID:76561197996543132|1221325685}]
[{SCRIPT:tf_weapon_winger} {ID:76561197996543132|1221234562}]
[{SCRIPT:tf_weapon_soda_popper} {ID:76561197996543132|1221399676}]
[↓] [↑][BACK][QUIT]
Consulting the list, he quickly updated the information in the teleporter. The Engineer smirked at the name, the Flying Guillotine, and entered it in. He worked his way through the classes, scrolling down the screen.
TELEMAX INTERFACE SOFTWARE
[MEDIC][USER LOG] [EDIT]
[SNIPER][USER LOG] [EDIT]
[SPY][USER LOG] [EDIT]
[USERNAME][USER LOG]
[↑][BACK][QUIT]
He paused at the bottom of the main screen, confused. Username? When he programmed the teleporter ID system that was the kind of name the classes had before he filled them out. Not only that, this one couldn't be edited.
Enemy spies could use his builds as they pleased, based on whatever disguise they were wearing. Something in those little cloakers disguised as cigarette cases not only produced a disguise outwardly good enough to fool enemies, it also generated the right signals to use the enemy technology. It even fooled Mediguns. But if you looked at the class user log, the item script in the log would be for a Spy's disguise kit, rather than an item that the actual person would use.
Instead of a script that read something like:
[{SCRIPT:tf_weapon_cleaver} {ID:76561197996543132|1221368006}]
You would end up with:
[{SCRIPT:tf_weapon_pda_spy} {ID:11300042052020112|12212007521}]
Somewhere out there, the Engineer was sure that the sides kept track of whose Spy did what. Regardless of who Spies impersonated, it would show up under that class. Medic, Heavy, the enemy Spy, it didn't matter. There should be no extra class.
He was getting a bad feeling about this. And, a spike of anger. Who thought they had the right to mess with his machines?
With a sour taste in his mouth, the Engineer selected the class.
TELEMAX INTERFACE SOFTWARE
[USERNAME]
[USER LOG]
[{TIMESTAMP:09.27.1970_22.42.56} {ID:07180125|13011414}]
[{TIMESTAMP:09.28.1970_01.15.13} {ID:07180125|13011414}]
[BACK][QUIT]
Two entries, both from the last time they were at this base. Both within a few hours of each other, late at night. At that time, everyone was sleeping, drunk, or holed up in their respective areas. That had been the night of their first victory since arrival, so drinking was a certainty.
A thought struck him as he considered the timestamp.
The whole mess with the courier began not long after they left Dustbowl and arrived at the Badlands base.
This class, or whatever the heck it was, couldn't even be edited. It hacked right into his teleporter's records nice as you please, entered the base, and left like a tomcat in the night a few hours later. The ID's were like nothing he'd ever seen. Somehow, the teleporter had accepted the code and let something through.
The Engineer felt a coil of anger settle in his stomach. He liked to consider himself an easy going guy, but any idiot who touched his babies had it coming to them.
He checked the clock, and found that the strategy meeting was approaching. With any luck, he'd have time to give Miss Pauling a call before he had to attend. This stood a high chance of being related to everything else that went on months ago.
The more of that whole quandary they understood, the better of a chance the Engineer stood of getting his hands on the slimy snake that messed with his machines.
Chapter Notes:
[1] Scottish: run away
[2] Scottish: cowards
[3] Scottish: to play hide and seek
[4] Molotov cocktail: a glass bottle with flammable liquid inside (often alcohol) and a piece of cloth sticking out of the neck. Wielders set the rag on fire before throwing the firebomb. (DO NOT TRY AT HOME.)
[5] Scottish: happy
The Fanfiction site apparently does not like the formatting I used for the Telemax software, which is a real pain in the neck. This story is also posted on archive and deviantart.
Theme song for this chapter is Come Out and Play, by The Offspring.
Back in the 1800s, Redmond and Blutarch Mann convinced their father, Zephaniah Mann, to purchase useless land in the Badlands, convinced that the gravel would become profitable. On the way there he contracts many humorously named diseases and ends up writing his will on his own sloughed off arm skin in 1850 before dying. In addition to cursing the two brothers to share the land, he gives his weapons company to his friend Barnabas Hale, and his 'miracle gravel' (Australium) to his maid servant Elizabeth, who bears an eerie resemblance to the current Administrator, Helen. He also warns her that a year before Zephaniah Mann wrote his will and died, Grey resurfaced and tried to blackmail for the Australium. This is the last we hear of him. You can read Mann's will here: (www. teamfortress mannwill/)
The Scottish brogue translations in this story were taken from (www. firstfoot. /dictionary). There are like 14 different ways to describe being drunk in there, and I suspect that it's not a complete list.
The scripts used in the Telemax software were actually taken from their names in the code. Scout's items are the Baby Face Brawler, Atomizer, Winger, and Soda Popper. The item that the Engineer is adding is from the August 2nd game patch, the one just before the Mann vs Machine update. Telemax is a fake company found in the game, corresponding to the teleporters. I thought it would be a nice touch.
A note on the insanely long string of numbers for the ID's: check the tf2 wiki pages for those items, look at the page code (View code source) and look at the line for the contributor. The link code is what I chose for the item IDs. There was no contributor for Spy's Disguiser (because it's one of the earliest items in the game), so I just went through the page code and picked out numbers.
Timeline wise, I'm going with September 1970 for Arc One, February 1971 for Arc Two, and July 1971 for Arc Three. Mann vs Machine update came out 08/15/12, so I'm thinking I'll choose August 1971 for that.
I have a working theory that the teleporters work using ID codes embedded in weaponry and uniforms. The teleporter reads the code of the first item it senses (whether that be a weapon or an item or whatnot), recognizes it as something owned by a teammate, and lets them through. This means that only the team can get through. Spy disguiser kits can trick the machines however, and the item that shows up on the log is the disguiser, rather than any item the person they are disguised as might be carrying.
Take the ID string numbers from Username and match them up against the alphabet, with "A" being 01 and so on. Sometimes things can be hiding in plain sight. It matches up to a particular in-game easter egg, so thanks go to TaylorBeth for showing me that.