What started as a lonesome wail grew into a piercing siren. The sound rattled the bones of the nine mercenaries. Cold dread ran down their backs. They'd been discovered. They had barely gotten their foot into the front door, and the jig was already up.
It wasn't like the team didn't have their fair share of setbacks, but they got old.
The Soldier hissed, then swung his rocket launcher upright. "Those two morons already blew our cover! I knew it!"
"This isn't the time to be gettin' pissy," the Sniper scowled. He clambered up iron-wrought stairs, scrambling to find an open window with a good view.
The American wasn't pleased with the smart-mouthed Australian. "Look who's talking."
"We've got to move faster," the Engineer grumbled. He snatched the Soldier's attention, trying to get him off the backs of his fellow teammates. "Get the Demoman to those fuel silos and knock 'em out. Then start lookin' for generators. We've got to cut as much power as we can."
The Demoman agreed to the plan. He grabbed the Soldier by the collar, then prepared to bolt. "C'mon, boyo. We'll have more robots to scrap over here." Glancing up the stairwell, he barked at the Sniper. "Oy, lad! Clear the way!"
That was a trivial chore for the Sniper. Now that he knew that he wasn't going to blow the team's cover, it was easy for him to remove the gnats on the surfaces of the storage facilities. Metal heads popped in the distance, Sniper bots blind-sighted by the fleshed organism they were built to emulate. Gray dots congregated around the windows, blowing wood and plaster away. The Sniper worked between two walls, making short work of the western and southern rooftops.
"Get goin', you nuts!" the Sniper barked.
The Demoman and Soldier leapt into brush behind the western exit of their hideout. No sooner had they fled their hideout than the next set of troops stepped up. The Heavy gave a concerned glance outside of the building. The last thing a massive target like him needed was a shot to his big, round head. The Medic waited behind him, much more eager to satiate his bloodlust. Or, in this case, his urge to spill oil.
"Any orders?" the Heavy grunted at the Engineer.
The Texan balked. He had no idea why a man a good foot taller and two hundred pounds heavier than him was taking his orders. He struggled to give a recommendation, but pointed towards the east. "Secure the closest buildings. We'll be right behind you."
The Heavy gave a terse nod to the Engineer. "Da. Will report when clear."
Now the Pyro was up to bat. He gave an energetic set of grunts and yells to the Engineer, but the Texan didn't catch what he was saying. The Engineer shook his head, then raised his hands. "Do what you've gotta do. Just don't go too far, alright?"
That worked for the firebug. He raised one thumb, then bolted towards the building to the north. The Engineer flinched as bright lights followed the rushing pyrotechnician across the path. A burst from upstairs saved the Pyro's hide. It didn't take much longer for the Sniper to make short work of the north-most rooftop forces.
"Tell me when you wanna start takin' places," the Sniper shouted.
The Engineer rubbed his head. He tapped on his earpiece, then checked in with the two ladies on the other end. "Thinkin' of headin' north. Ladies? Orders?"
"Sounds good. Follow up with the Scout and the Spy," Miss Pauling replied.
Another demand from the Scout's mother echoed the assistant's statement. "Hey, yeah! Watch their butts. And yous guys—get that damn siren off! Man, it sounds terrible!"
"You're freakin' telling me!" the Scout's static-scuffed voice huffed back. "Christ, I think my ears are gonna start bleeding!"
The Spy shushed his accomplice. "Quiet, boy. We're almost in position."
"Right. Good luck," the Engineer cheered the duo on. "Let's move, Mundy."
Long feet clattered down the stairwell as the Sniper sprang into action. A goofy thought crossed the Engineer's mind. He hadn't seen his friend haul ass like that in years. Silly thoughts were paired with a crooked grin on his friend's face. The Sniper was pleased with himself. He looked back in his element, even if he had the wrong sunglasses and hat on.
The Engineer hefted his toolbox onto his shoulder. "Cover me."
"You've got it," the Sniper promised.
The duo rushed out together, ready to infest the enemy's camp and build their team's nest.
/***/
A satellite dish larger than a car gleamed in the afternoon sun. While its building remained drab and gray, it shined. The Scout felt water drooling from his mouth. How many radio stations could something like that pick up? Better than that—how many games could he hear?
It was a shame that the Spy was going to have to take that offline, but that was the breaks. At least it didn't have to face the brutal death that the Soldier or Demoman could give it.
Robots were milling about the front door. They were scanning the paths for anything fleshy to destroy. Most of them were confused robots built in his likeness. More yet were dummies—so, obviously Soldier. One big machine was squinting past the Spy and Scout's position, studying distant rooftops for activity. Its curiosity was satisfied by a hot bullet through its digital brain pan. It crashed onto its subservient counterparts, frying more out in its wake. Even the Spy's solemn face was surprised.
"Well, looks like that freakin' Sniper's distractin' the guards," the Scout exclaimed.
The Spy put a hand around the Scout's mouth. The Bostonian struggled, but calmed down as the Spy shushed him. "Quiet. We move now."
Of course, that was easy for the Frenchman to do. He had a disguise kit and half a dozen watches, after all. All the Scout had to protect himself was a baseball bat, a pistol, a shotgun, and his loud mouth. He scuttled behind the Spy, his cardboard disguise catching in the bushes. He growled, then tossed it aside. Stupid Soldier and his stupid ideas.
"Wait here," the Spy warned the Scout. "Only enter when I say so."
The Scout rolled his eyes, but kept put. He could probably run circles around those metallic morons before they got one shot off. Hell, with the work the Sniper was doing in the front, he doubted he even needed to attack. He crouched down, watching the Spy reach the backdoor. He grabbed the security camera above his head, then slit its metallic neck. Pulling that out, he slapped a sapper onto a keypad. Smoke and sparks flew through the air. With one last pop, the back door deactivated. The Spy jammed his knife into the secured door, then forced it open.
"Come," the Spy ordered.
The duo slipped into a cold, dark hallway. Its sleek, tiled floors reminded the Scout of school days long since passed. He half-expected his old math teacher to burst out of the first door to his right, the Scout's shredded assignment plastered with red marks. He was greeted instead by the dead-eyed robotic duplicate of himself. Compared to that old bastard of a teacher, the robot was nothing. He pumped two shells into its chest. The machine fell to the ground, trying in vain to reach for the ankles of an organic creature that had left it for dead.
The Spy rebuked the Scout. "Silence, si vous plaît."
"Man, are you gonna get off my butt or what?" the Scout grumbled.
His mother chirped in his ear. "Be nice, sweeties."
The Spy shook his head, then massaged his earlobe. This coddling was going to be a problem. "Mademoiselle Pauling? Do you have any information on this building?"
"The control room for the satellite dish is on the top floor," Miss Pauling informed him. "I'm guessing that you're going to encounter Engineer robots upstairs. Tread lightly."
The Sniper's voice broke into the conversation. "Copy that. I've got a visual. Keep in the stairwell while I clean up shop."
The Scout shook his head, then blasted the disabled robot trailing him one last time. "Geez, Snipes. You're takin' away all my fun!"
Both the Frenchman and the Bostonian hurried up the stairwell. Surprised guards slumped to the ground as bullets and knives pierced through their metallic bodies. One lucky rocket exploded through the third floor, just missing the Spy as he trotted upstairs. The Scout pulled him out of range, his feet hot. Glass shattered above their heads as the Sniper continued suppressing fire.
There was a rattle and a belch of flames as something thick exploded on the fourth floor. "Damn. Bugger moved, 'n I got his sentry instead. Hold on."
"Only you would complain about killin' a machine," the Scout snickered.
"I've gotten out of practice," the Sniper sighed. "What good's a sniper that can't kill his target in one go?"
"Just watch your own butt," the Engineer grumbled. "Second base is set up. Move with me when you can."
The Spy slunk upstairs. "Leave the remaining machines to me. Move the Engineer up."
A colorful sight that pierced through the hallway disappeared. The Spy cracked his neck, then took up another disguise. How fortuitous it was that the Engineer bots watching the control room were more frightened by the fleeing Sniper than the ghost at their backs. He bobbed his head towards the Scout, then the door. The kid rolled his eyes, then reloaded his gun.
Pushing the control room's door open with his toe, the Spy crept inside. Both machines were busy trying to reconstruct their buildings. Their unfurling sentries would have to go first. Reaching into his suit, the Spy clapped sappers onto both machines. The two Engineer bots gave each other nervous looks, then raised their wrenches to clear their sentries and attack their invader. The Scout didn't let the one closest to him have the chance. He bashed into the first bot, smashing it out the window and onto the pavement below. The Spy made short work of the other. Stabbing wasn't quite as flashy as a fourth-story ring out, but the Spy wasn't one for attracting attention.
Well, not when he was trying to kill, anyway.
The Spy began dismantling the rest of the machinery in the room as the Scout radioed back to the two ladies. "Okay. Done. Now what?"
Miss Pauling sighed. "Shut off that siren, for one. Look for any computer terminals and turn them off."
The Scout glanced around the room. There were four silver machines filled with keyboards. He went behind the one furthest to the left, looking for a power supply. He found a black cord hooked into the wall, coated with dust. With one good yank, the cord popped free from the wall, fragile enough to tear in his hands. The cord's plug remained fastened to the wall. He winced as the terrible siren continued its awful song.
A spark came from the Spy's direction. He managed to fix several more sappers onto a second console. The stench of hot electronics burned in the Scout's nose. When it died, the loud wail dropped with it. Both men gave a deep sigh of relief. With any luck, their ears would stop ringing in a few minutes.
Two new noises caught their attention. The first was the clacking of metal on hard floors. The troops were coming up! Slamming the door shut, the Scout locked as many deadbolts as he could. It wouldn't hold the incoming robots for long, but it would give the Spy enough time to destroy the remaining computer terminals.
The second deafening roar came from further within Gray's territory. It had a deep rumble, an eerie, melodious quality like that of a bass chord. The sound sent vibrations through the Spy and Scout's core. It was a tone that neither had heard in a long time, but its soul-crushing boom was enough to make them quake.
A distant, flustered Australian joined in their panic. "Tank incomin'!"
"Please don't tell me that some damn robots hijacked our ride," the Engineer hissed over the headset.
"Nyet!" the Heavy reported in. "Coming from center of island. Many robots with it. Move up! Now!"
A Scottish slur argued with the Russian voice. "Forget that mess! Bring 'em over here! I've got a treat cooked up!"
Miss Pauling decisive voice brought the panicked men together. "All available units—follow Mister DeGroot's suggestion. Stage whatever environmental hazards you can. Do not let them drive you out!"
That was easy enough, for the seven men on the loose. For the duo trapped in a room with robots pounding on the doors, it wasn't such a simple order to follow. The Scout glanced upwards, as if he could see through the ceiling. "Please tell me we turned off that stupid thing!"
The Sniper shot down his hopes. "What are you two doin'? Get that bloody satellite offline!"
Now, the Spy was irritated. He held a hand over his headset and snarled. "I have done all I can! The machines in this room are offline! It must be controlled by another mechanism."
"Look, we don't have time to waste on this crap," the Scout barked. He abandoned the front door, then ran towards the windows. Knocking the remaining glass out of the window that he had thrown one robot out of, the Scout looked around for any means of escape. The roof was too high up to crawl onto. The window into the next room was reachable, but still shut. Not a problem for the Scout. He leaned out, then blasted the window open with his shotgun. Glass rained onto robots waiting below, electric eyes trying to focus on the dangerous, fleshed target.
The Scout swung back into the room. "We're gonna have to jump."
"You are insane!" the Spy shouted.
He yelped as mechanical hands tore through the locked door. That was a more convincing argument to go with the Scout's plan than any dialogue could have conveyed. He snarled, then pointed out the window. Nobody had to tell the Scout twice. He leapt out, screaming in terror and delight as he swung into the next room, bullets grazing his legs. The Spy shook his head, but leaned out to do the same. There was no choice. He would be overwhelmed if he did not move.
The Spy jumped out of the window as another volley of rounds shot upwards. He grabbed onto the next window's ledge, gloves and fingers cutting on broken shards of glass. Reflexes got the better of him. His fingers opened, trying in vain to get away from the debris, not thinking about the four story drop below him. His fingertips slipped over the edge of the windowsill.
The Scout threw himself forward, his stomach landing on the same sharp glass. He grimaced, struggling to hold onto the Spy's left wrist. He pulled back, easing the Spy up. A volley of grenades shook his concentration. The Scout shrieked as the tiny bombs landed all about his ankles.
In his moment of panic, with no other plan, the Scout let go of the Spy and ran.
He rushed out of the room as the grenades burst. Pieces of the ceiling tore upwards, chewing through the walls and cabinets. It was only through sheer speed that the Scout was saved. He gulped down air, studying the chunks blown out of the floors. Growling, he pulled pieces of shrapnel and glass out of his stomach. His eye widened as he realized what horrible mistake he had made.
Running back to the edge of the building, the Scout glanced below his feet. Dozens of Soldier and Demoman bots were closing in on his position. That wasn't what struck true horror in his heart. Laying several stories below was the lifeless body of the Spy. Its fingers were clenched, head turned flat against the ground. The Scout drew back, wracked with pain and shame.
The Spy's body was down there—and it was his fault.
/***/
"Please tell me he had the Dead Ringer!" the Scout's panicked voice freaked out over the team's headsets.
His fear set off a concerned squeak from his mother. "What in the hell do you mean? What's going on?"
No one had a concrete answer for them. They were hip-deep in their own carnage. The Heavy and Medic were distant blurs charging towards rust-colored tanks. Both the Soldier and the Demoman were covering their backs, ballistics coating the robots chasing after them. Eight round stickybombs coated the center fuel tank. The four pulled back into the foliage as troops and the mobile tank rounded a corner. A wild, devious glimmer was in the Demoman's eyes as they came closer to their trap.
"Take cover! I'm 'boot to blow this crap!" he cheered.
The Sniper and Engineer were hoofing through the top floor of an armory. The Pyro had caught up with them, but had fallen behind once more. A brief flash of silver metal and smoke drew him back to the primary base. It was just as well that he was keeping his eyes on the fleeing devils. The Engineer hardly had the strength to keep building, never-the-less to keep chasing after Spy bots. He tossed down another sentry, grime and sweat rolling between his shoulder blades. The only comfort he had was the steady percussive bursts from the Sniper's rifle as he kept watch over their men.
"Stay indoors, Pyro," the Engineer said. "Tavish, got a countdown?"
The Demoman snickered. "Aye. One, two, skip a few—"
His silly warning was cut short by deadly force. Rockets sailed over his head. A massive Soldier bot stomped behind the tank, fire pluming in rolling waves behind its weapon. Throwing himself behind the scarcely protective barrier of leaves and brush, the Demoman flicked the detonator on his stickybomb launcher. Eight tiny explosions lit sensitive fuel inside the tank. When liquid power came surging out, the towering silo falling, the battlefield was covered in a lake of fire.
The fuel silo landed on top of a wave of robotic troops. Those that survived the detonation wandered through the fire, metal melting as they approached their targets. The sudden flash sent the giant robot Soldier's aim off. In its blind fury, it destroyed the leftmost column. White and blue fire blasted out the silo. The men in the brush ran for their lives as the silo crashed into the third tank, which rocketed into the sky.
Such a calamitous cacophony was answered by more devastation. A ponderous, thundering giant Heavy robot stomped forward, through the rolling, flaming waves. It was joined in turn by its rickety, shaken counterpart Soldier bot. Tanks followed their knees, prepared to drive what had destroyed both the fuel silos and the fighting tank. Bullets ripped through buildings, chasing frightened men out of the bushes like so many little, flighty quail.
The Sniper slammed the butt of his rifle out a partially broken window, then took aim. Thunder echoed through the secured building. Both the Soldier and Heavy robots stopped. They swiveled towards the Sniper's position, eyes crackling with electricity and fire. He popped one out of the Heavy's riveted head, but it did little to slow down the oncoming titans.
"Get back!" the Sniper warned the Engineer, continuing to fire as he backpedaled into the hallway.
One lucky shot stopped the oncoming Soldier just as a series of rockets splattered against the second floor of their building. Its demise didn't stop the giant Heavy. The Sniper cursed as the building shook from the impact of bullets gnashing through supports. He stumbled as the Engineer came forward, sentry in hand, leaving the security of the halls behind. The damned fool was trying to hold the Heavy back, even as the tin ogre glowered outside of the window.
Even the aggressive assault of the sentry couldn't save them.
The guts of the building yielded to piercing bullets. It quaked beneath their feet as the massive machine gun tore through the last beams in the lower floors' frames. Tile collapsed, the building folding in on itself as gravity took hold of it. The sentry squealed as the floor cracked beneath its feet. It ripped a hole through the floor as it fell. The whole of the floor gave way in a cloud of debris and dust.
Small feet slipped through the air. The Engineer gave no scream as he plummeted. Reaching for his companion, denim slipped past the Sniper's chapped fingers. He had no time to panic over his mistake. Tiny triangles ate away the last of the floor beneath his feet. Not even clinging to the doorframe could save the Sniper. Even that crumbled and fell into the abyss, taking the shaken marksman with them.
Robots, sentries, humans, war—these things meant nothing to the laws of physics as the top floors came crashing down.
/***/
Author's Note
…Well, that escalated quickly.