Author's Note: Oh dear, I left my keyboard for a second and came back to find my pet parrot stomping all over it. I think I better copy this again and check it for parrot-related typing.
It occurs to me that you might like to hear about some of the ideas I've rejected along the way in this series. Before I start writing a story, I make a plan first. This then gets altered as I write and come up with new ideas. Sometimes, things get discarded because I can't fit them in, or because I come up with an idea I prefer. So, here are some of the things I didn't write (skip this bit if you've not read the other stories in this series yet):
- YNTGAH: RED Medic never regretted his actions and didn't try to save BLU. Dropped because who doesn't love a redemption arc?
- SITC: The RED Heavy never left Teufort and died with the other clones. Instead, Gerhardt was alone in New Orleans when contacted by Violet Spy. Upon agreeing to work together, Violet Spy chose to use the Jemima Cordes disguise to pretend to be Medic's wife. I was kind of sorry to lose this idea, but I realised that a trio of main characters worked far better than just Medic and Spy.
- SITC: The Administrator and her clones didn't die, but fought alongside the rebels in the final robot battle while dual-wielding cutlasses. Sorry, Helen, I dropped this idea because you deserved to die. Shame, though, it's such a badass idea!
- SPS: Jacques' upset stomach was going to be due to eating people. A sub-plot was going to be Sniper Lawrence having to hunt down his carnivorous best friend. I decided this was too angsty and not relevant enough to the main plot.
- SPS: Eagle was going to go berserk when he got close to the Institute as well as waking up all the other robots. Hermes (or Mercury, as I was going to call him at first until I checked my legends) then had to fight him and try to subdue him. I decided this was too predictable.
In an unrelated note, I'm going to declare that I'm willing to bet that Medic's canon name will turn out to be Victor. It fits the naming convention Valve has used thus far. If I'm right, you all owe me one unusual each, just so you know.
Ah, what might have been... Anyway, let us continue. There's a familiar face...
The Shadow On The Reef
Chapter Twenty-Four: The Neutral Party
"He that would live in peace and at ease must not speak all he knows or all he sees." -Benjamin Franklin
Boston North End, 24th August 1972
Spy Marcus adjusted his tie nervously as he walked along the tidy and well-kept Boston street. The red brick apartment buildings were old, elegant and highly sought-after. To his left, he could hear children's laughter from the nearby park.
The entire area had a European charm that gave Marcus a brief pang of homesickness for Paris before he shook his head in dismissal. Fool. You've never even visited Paris. You're only a year old clone, remember? He passed a group of tourists remarking on the incredible age of the buildings and stifled a snort of laughter. These Americans found anything over fifty years old ancient! It was oddly charming, in a naive sort of a way.
Then again, wasn't he American, really? Did he count as a native? He closed his eyes briefly and exhaled through his nose. Being a clone was so confusing. Who was he, really? More and more, that question had been weighing him down. The horrific events that had happened to Jacques had left him feeling queasy and out of sorts. It could have been me. In some ways, it was me. Miss Pauling was right about this- none of them had the distance to treat this investigation fairly. How could he possibly judge a man who had, in one way, murdered him? He knew what he wanted to do to Erwin- lock him up and throw away the key. Death would be too merciful and clean.
He turned the corner onto Hanover Street and looked at the house numbers. This must be one of the nicest areas of Boston. He has excellent taste. But of course, I already knew that. He quickly checked his pockets. First aid kit...sedative darts...disguise kit...cloak. Not that he intended to use them, if he could avoid it. Right now, he was disguised as a muscular blonde young white man that the Spies had nicknamed 'Wolfgang'. He was one of their standard patterns if they wanted to blend in with the general public. Marcus felt that 'Wolfgang' was a little too obviously handsome and clean-cut to really fade into a crowd, but right now, that was all to the best. In some ways, he wanted to stand out. He wanted to be recognisable.
He stopped outside number 435, and rang the bell for the penthouse apartment. There was a brief pause and he heard footsteps pattering towards the door, and it opened. Marcus smiled as the thin man with a shaven head, large expressive eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard looked at him with astonishment, and then growing anger before trying to slam the door. Marcus quickly jammed it open with his foot. The man tried to shove the door shut anyway, making Spy's disguise kit crackle in protest.
"Monsieur Sabatier, it's good to see you again," Marcus said, nodding in greeting. "I see you recognise me." A butterfly knife was suddenly pressed against his throat, but he just smiled at his attacker.
"Go away," the man glared at him venomously. "I am retired, remember? I don't wish to have anything to do with... any of you."
"Théo? Who is it?" A voice called behind him.
"Just an old friend, mon cher," Théo replied, his voice softening slightly. He retracted the knife a little. "Go back to the party- I'll be there shortly."
"Party?" Marcus asked.
"I am celebrating my engagement," Théo said flatly.
"Engage...? Ah, apologies. I see my timing could have been better," Marcus said, waving a hand placatingly. "I must speak to you, but I can come back later, if you wish."
"Putain!" Théo sighed in resignation and folded away the knife. "I know you only say that because you know that now I am here, I will be too curious to send you away."
"True," Marcus admitted. "However, a dire situation has developed. Otherwise, I would not be here seeking your aid."
"Oh, please," Théo said, rolling his eyes in annoyance, before leaning in and hissing. "Do you honestly expect me to believe I am the only person who can help you? I don't believe it. If you need another me, you know what to do- create one."
"If only it were that simple," Marcus said, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. He offered one to Théo. The man grudgingly snatched it off him and Marcus lit them up. "We need you, because you have the relevant information, but a certain...distance. In fact, we don't need a Spy at all."
Théo frowned. "Then why are you bothering me?"
"Because we need the person you were before you became Théodore Sabatier. Before you became the Violet Spy, even," Marcus said quietly. He saw Théo's eyes widen with interest and smiled to himself. "There has been a murder at the Institute and we need someone who is not emotionally involved to solve it. We need a..."
"Detective," Théo sighed in resignation. "Merde."
"We need your help, Théo," Marcus said earnestly. "The situation...it is tangled, urgent, and getting worse, daily. I am sorry we had to disturb you, but we are desperate. It may be a tired cliché, but I am afraid I have to use it: You are our only hope. Aides-nous, s'il te plait. "
"Hm," Spy Théo said. He took his cigarette out of his mouth and blew a perfect smoke ring. "You had better come in and have some champagne."
"Champagne?" Marcus asked in puzzlement.
Violet Spy gave a sudden grin. "If you think I am leaving my own engagement party, you can think again. Come, be my guest- and later, we can discuss what you need of me."
"You'll help?"
"It seems I will," Théo motioned Marcus inside. "You had better keep the disguise kit on. It will...avoid confusion, oui?"
Marcus nodded and stepped inside.
"Hey there, Solly," Tyler said, strolling along the corridor of the correctional facility. "I've come to visit the prisoner."
"Which one?" Soldier eyed him suspiciously, not relaxing his guard one iota. He had a rifle over his shoulder with a bayonet attached. Tyler mentally shook his head. The man had watched too many war films.
"You got more than one prisoner in there at the moment?"
"Yessir! Scout Thomas laced Spy Albert's cigarettes with marijuana."
"You don't say?" Tyler said, his mouth cracking into a smile. "So, which cell is the li'l troublemaker in?"
"Scout Thomas is in cell 1, Medic Erwin is in cell 8, Spy Albert is in cell 3, and Heavy Anatoly is in cell 5."
"Wait, wait, why is Albert in here? And Heavy? He don't ever break the rules."
"Spy Albert got hungry and raided the kitchen. He ate five sandwiches Anatoly had been saving for Medic Friedrich. Anatoly found out and broke his wrist. And ribs. And arm."
"Ohhhkay," Tyler drawled, feeling slightly sorry he missed the show. "Well, I'm here to see Erwin, not any o'them."
"The murderer is not allowed visitors," Soldier stated.
"First of all, he's only a suspect," Tyler pointed out, tapping his metal finger against the palm of his other hand. "And second, I got permission from Miss Pauling."
"I'll need proof before I can let you pass," Soldier said firmly.
"Sure thing, fella." Tyler reached in his pocket and placed an item into Soldier's hand.
"This is a chocolate bar," Soldier said.
"That's right. Our li'l lady thought you'd be hungry, what with all this guard duty."
"It is good to work for a commanding officer who looks out for her men!" Soldier said happily, his mouth crooking into a charming grin. He ripped the packaging open with his teeth and took a bite before handing Tyler a key."Permission granted. Cell 8, down at the end."
"Thanks, son." Tyler walked past, feeling slightly guilty. Soldier was just too easy to fool, and it sometimes felt a little unfair to deceive him like this. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.
The corridor was painted white and floored with simple, cheap lino. The doors had small barred windows set into them, but it was neat and clean, if a little bare. Tyler had never personally ended up down here, but he knew of other Engineers who had. The incident with the remote control, the camera, and Engineer Connor's robotic hand sprang to mind...
He opened the end cell, and Erwin looked up. Damn, he looks terrible. The Medic had deep shadows around his eyes and was unshaven. His face was a waxy pale and he blinked slowly as the door opened.
"Tyler?" He asked, his voice slightly hoarse and croaking. "I zhought I vasn't allowed visitors."
"Well...nope," Tyler admitted, scratching his bald head sheepishly. "But here I am. Thought I'd come and see how you were holdin' up."
"I...I...it is only a prison cell. Just a small room," Erwin replied in a monotone. "Zhat is all. Just a small room."
"Damn, Erwin," Tyler said softly, sitting down in a creaking wooden chair. "Shucks, fella. I know...how this must feel to you. Look, I thought you might be goin' stir crazy locked away like this, so I bought you some stuff to keep your mind occupied." He walked out of the cell briefly and then returned with a pile of books.
"Oh!" Erwin's finely arched eyebrows hitched up his high forehead. "Zhank you." Erwin gestured, and Tyler handed the stack over. Erwin quickly started looking through them, before stopping at one with an expression between annoyance and amusement.
"I just put that in for a joke, y'know," Tyler said, smiling desperately. "Thought it might make you chuckle."
"Hmph. Zhat Mädchen Shelley!" Erwin said with a disapproving sniff, looking down at the plain black hardback. "My fazher said his Urgroßpapa Victor told him zhat she got all zhe details wrong! Honestly, how could you be certain to get a lightning strike at zhe right time? And zhere is no mention of pineal glands at all!"
"Wait, wait, are you saying what I think you're sayin'?" Tyler asked slowly.
"Ah...no?" Erwin said slowly. "It's a story, of course. A silly fiction. Ja." He cleared his throat and looked away hurriedly.
"You know what? I don't think I want to know," Tyler said firmly. "Look, are you doin' ok? Can't be easy, being locked up in here."
"It...no," Erwin admitted. He got to his feet and paced back and forth briefly before sitting down again and running his hand through his black hair. "I... don't know. I don't know vhat to do. I don't even know vhat I did."
"What did you do?" Tyler asked softly.
"I said I don't know!" Erwin said, his voice getting louder in frustration. "And, stuck in here, I can't even find out or fix it. Has anyone found zhe body?"
"Nope," Tyler said softly. "He's gone. Vanished."
"If ve could find zhe body, zhen maybe I could get zhe internal respawn apparatus to vork," Erwin said absently. "Zhere must be a way. Zhere must."
"If we could find him," Tyler repeated.
"Ja." Erwin clenched his teeth, and Tyler could see the muscles in his jaw trembling. "Tyler, do you zhink I'm guilty?"
"What? What kinda question is that to ask a body?" Tyler said.
"An important one?"
"I...ah, hell, Erwin, I don't know!" Tyler admitted. "I'm sure you don't think you're guilty in your own mind, but you altered him while he wasn't able to make a good decision. Did you take advantage of him? Was that proper consent, after all the shit that had happened? Some even say..." Tyler trailed to a halt reluctantly.
"What do zhey say?"
"Nope, doesn't matter," Tyler said flatly. "Ah, hell. This is one bad situation."
"Tyler, you vonce said zhat if I turned out to be zhe traitor, if I vas vorking for Carmine, zhat you vould shoot me yourself," Erwin said quietly, looking at the floor.
"I did," Tyler said softly, feeling his stomach go cold and sickly. "But I know you're not workin' for..."
"If zhey find me guilty, and decide on a death sentence," Erwin continued quietly. He looked up at Tyler. In the wan light of the cell, he seemed to have gone even paler- a papery yellow-white. "I vant you to carry it out. Understand?"
"Medic, you can't ask that of me!" Tyler objected, his throat tightening. "I can't...won't do that!"
"Consider it my last vish. Zhe mercy of zhe hangman," Erwin said, looking down so his expression was hidden. "Every condemned prisoner deserves a last vish. Ve bozh know I vill be found guilty."
"You don't know that," Tyler said uncertainly. He closed his eyes, feeling suddenly nauseous and tired. He hoped Erwin was wrong, but he knew who was coming to judge him: the Violet Spy. That man was one of the four non-clones that had survived Gray Mann's massacre of TF Industries. A non-clone, judging a clone. Would he be fair? Or would clones always be second-class citizens, even in the Institute? Were they all still expendable, replaceable? No, wait- Violet Spy had tried to free the clones, so surely he, Tyler, was being unfair to the man. Surely?
"I vish I had your optimism," Erwin made a sour snorting noise. "But life has taught me zhat pessimism is zhe easiest and best approach."
"You'll get a fair trial, I swear it," Tyler said earnestly. "And...guilty or not, you'll always have a friend."
Erwin looked up, blinking eyes that glistened slightly. "Zhank you," He whispered.
"Yeah, well," Tyler stood up. "I'd like to keep you company a bit longer, but they're gonna decide we're colludin' or something dumb if I stay too long. Hang in there, Doc. You got that?"
Erwin gave a sad, twitchy smile. "Ja, I vill."
In Chapter Twenty-Five: Théo reaches the Institute, and Lawrence starts his quest to find out who's stealing his food...