"So…"

She kneeded her fingers harder against the cold surface of her gun, eyes glued to the door. Gum smacked—thick and sticky and just a little bit on the smooshed side. She was hoping that if she stood close enough to the metal gates that she could escape the insistent ranting and juicy aroma. Maybe even escape from the likes of him. But that was a stupid thought—of course she couldn't. He was always the first one out and the first one in.

Chapter 23

The Running Plight

Eyes rolled to the side threateningly, her face stoic when he leans in a tad bit too close for comfort. She could feel herself lean back away from him in response; the two looked like straw in a field, being blown side by side in the summer breeze. If only it were that relaxing. Teeth flashed into a needy grin, bright eyes accompanied with wiggling eyebrows.

"…how's it going?"

And again he shuffled those muscles, as if to annunciate his interest in her. Eyebrows danced spritely, and the cringed expression on her face seemed to have only attracted him even more. Frowning, her shoulders slump downward, gun still firm in her grasp. Then he pops his gun again, the tension in her body so evident that anyone could notice. "Excited?" he asks yet another question, and when she rolled her eyes the feeling of a palm patting her back frustrates her. The countdown, though as unsettling as it always was, seemed to be the only thing that drowned him out. Just as the Announcer reaches the 2 minute mark Tracks begins to attempt and clear her mind.

"I see ya got yourself a pretty big gun. Pretty nice, not half bad. Mines badass too…" Pressing her lips tighter together she conjures up a response. "Hmm." Hopefully this would give him the hint that she didn't give a shit. It was a blunt grumble—very blunt. Somewhere behind them a snort was suppressed, the BLU Scout glaring between the two and spitting a crude response. Shut yer mouth, Frenchie! And Take a hike, grandpa! Like that would redeem any points he might have lost from the Spy's chuckle he returns to his antics, that dirty grin resurfaced. "So, Tracker right?"

"Hng."

"Awesome! Knew I'd get it right, so anyway I heard yer dating RED. How's that gonna work out, I mean unless it ain't then I hell I mean, if you were interested, not sayin' that you were or anything but I mean if you were interested-"

"No."

More snickers, this time almost the entire team. Somehow the BLU Scout manages to keep his cool before going on. "No as in you ain't dating him or you're not interested?"

"Both."

That got the Demoman roaring out laughter. The boy growled, back turning to snap at the man who was almost an exact replica of her drunkard friend. Rolling her eyes she raises her gun, letting it bonk down onto his head. He stammers, feet shuffling for balance. Angry eyes glance over to him, and Tracks actually took the moment to observe how the BLU Scout looked. He was surprisingly a tad bit shorter than her, which mean he was a tad bit shorter than her ex. Pinkish skin with subtle freckles on his face, and hair a brown few shades darker—also, his muscles were a bit wider, whereas Scout was leaner.

Ugh…not my Scout.

Not her Scout. She shook her head, eyes locked onto the ground with a feeling of concern drowning in the pit of her stomach. What was she thinking? That was all over and down with—why did she just think that? "Yowch! What the hell, man?!" Her eyes glance back to him, lips pulled up in a slight pout as if she were bothered or confused. The BLU Scout was rubbing his head with wrapped palms, eyes throwing darts to her. As if to accentuate his frustration he takes his shotgun in hard, gripping it hard and giving it a firm smack on the side to brush off some of the dry blood from previous battles. Dry blood that he had tilted a tiny bit closer towards the Tracker so she could see it, plain as day. "Backa the line, support! This is offense territory, which means yer perky little ass might get in the way. And don't go thinkin' about seeing that buck-toothed boyfriend o' yours. You're a BLU now, remember that!" Her eyes rolled, expression giving off a very shove off vibe. Walking passed him she bumps her hip to the side, his body tipping so close to tumbling over. Heat filled his cheeks, and without truly thinking of his actions he reaches over to clasp a palm over her bottom. A yelp escapes her stretched lips, teeth gritting with frustration as she spins on her heel and swings her weapon to the side. "GET OFF!" she backhands him, his body crashing down to the floor. The room filled with noise—half of it laughter, while the other mix being complains and warnings. Hit him again! and Don't even think about it, Scout! along with Both of you, stop! And you are a BLU now, so start acting like it!

Huffing she shoves passed the BLUs, mumbling some excuses and apologies here and there before finally maneuvering to the back end. The last thirty seconds consisted of her waiting. They were eager, but some routines and rituals weren't mirrored to that of the REDs. They were aggressive, yes, but in a different matter. Patting a shoulder here and mumbling a good luck there wasn't done as often back in her base. Then again, the BLUs haven't been the majority of the time like before. That was until she showed up. The last second was spoken, the gates rising up and disappearing into their slots. And suddenly the room was empty. Tracks followed after—not too close and not too far. If she wanted to fit in, she had to do it right. Luckily she had some practice with her people skills when recruited into the RED team, but viewing it as practice alone only made her blood boil. The Announcer gave off a blood chilling message, giving them the all go and good luck. She scoffs—more like do not fail. Hot air rushes into her lungs, sun already baking her skin, but then she stops. Rubber soles drag along the ground as she skids, eyes widening and brows tilting to the side. Her lip quivers at the sound of gunfire and chaos; explosions and cries of both agony and furry. Oh, shit she couldn't move all the sudden.

Damn it, damn it, damn it!

She couldn't fucking move and she didn't know why. But the closer the noise came the tenser she got. Finally, after what felt like ten seconds or so of just staring into the distance she forces herself to move, legs staggering and moving too slow for her liking.

"HERR SCOUT, ZE BLU SENTRY IS PERCHED ON THE FACTORY!" Scout glances down to his Medic before returning his attention forward. Damn the BLU Engineer was smart. Now that he planted that damn thing on the second floor the Medic would be a real easy kill. "Don't worry Doc, I got it!" Taking a strong leap the Scout manages to reach the first half of the stairs, running his way up narrow halls and into the sanctuary of the level two sentry. Whether or not it was guarded he wasn't sure. Stiff legs struggles to make sly movements, and a fried brain couldn't make decent decisions. "F…Fuck, calm down damn it. Shit…" Cocking his gun he gives himself a nod, filling his chest with confidence. Turning the corner he catches the sentry's attention, dodging its range of fire and bouncing over it. A flash of yellow in the doorway—there he was! Firing his scatter shot he gets a hit, grinning and rolling to the side when the sound of a sniper shot roared in the air. The sentry fuzzed, taking damage. Damn, they were doing good! Snipes had his back, and he had Medics. This just might work.

"SENTRY DOWN!"

"That's not all, Hardhat!" he shoves into him, pulling out his bat and slamming it into his jaw. A neck cracked, the body slumping to the ground. Fuck yes! Oh, this was so damn sweet the Scout could practically cry with joy. When this was done of course he would be dreading life in his bed, so for now he tried to enjoy this. The rest probably were, why shouldn't he? Maybe it was best to stay up here, away from the roofs and ground. That way he'd find some easy kills and keep away from Tracks.

Tumbling forward she lands on the metal roofing, leaping effortlessly through the air and landing a little too messily on the water tower. Yelping she almost loses her balance, arms reaching to the side for something to support herself. There was nothing, just air. But taking a deep breath she manages to regain her composure, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as she fumbles with her breathing. "…shit," she sighs, rubbing her eyes. It was brighter than usual, and she couldn't think right. Raising her hand she struggles to shade her eyes from the blazing light. Sweat dripped from her chin already, the sweat blotching her BLU outfit a little too obviously. Tracks curses under her breath, gazing down with disgust. Damn she hated this outfit! "FUCK!" she curses, suddenly losing her balance when a stray bullet flies by. Damn, that was rare. And of all the times it just had to be now. Holding in a scream she lands a few feet down, her butt dragging along the hot metal tin. Reaching the edge of the slanted roof her body plummets to the ground, her eyes widening and arms flailing. Fingers wrapped around the sill of a window just in time, her body hanging a good nine feet from the ground. A sigh of relief escapes her dry throat—that was too close. Brown eyes scanned the area, the flash of RED catching her eye.

A gun was pointing for her, a single eye glaring. Demoman positions himself, and his face just read in plain sight, Please to God move or else you'll be blown away.

She had to think fast. Balling her hand into a fist she crashes it into the window, shoving the latch open and crawling. Her body lands painfully, thighs scraping against the scattered pieces. Painful gasps heaved from her chest, her body cringing at the sound of a metallic thump followed by beeping. Gazing to the side she spots a red light—fuck. "Ehh!" she scrambles forward, the explosion pushing her forward and into the next room. Ears rung, her throat letting out a raspy grumble. "Ffff…fuck," Tracker rolls to the side for a bit, just lying there in wait. Hopefully is she just stayed there no one would find her. There were so many building all around, so the chances of someone making a complete sweep through were always slim. Rubbing the dirt from her cheek she hears a creek from the floor boards. Without thinking she rolls to the side, dodging a melee weapon. Crates smashed, tables slammed into the ground. Tracks jumps into her feet, back slamming against the wall. Grabbing her gun she points it forward, eyes glaring.

"…Snipes," she chokes on the word, arms tensing at the sight. With his kukri in hand he changes his stature from ridged to smooth, lids rising as if he were lifted from a killer trance. "Shiela?" his voice was shocked, and mixed with some disappointment—of all the buildings you went to you just had to come to this one.

Something was spoken under his breath, words that Tracks could not decipher properly. Her mind was racing, and she couldn't think straight when Sniper approached her. But then he did something she wasn't expecting. He rose his kukri over his head towards her, and before she could even speak he brought it down. Tracks yells under her breath, her body sliding against splintered wood away from his range. The blade slices through the wall, leaving a deep and menacing scar. His head snaps to her, eyes mixed between brutal and soft. "Snipes!" He goes for her again, her legs opening. The blade pierces the ground between her thighs, her foot planting against his forehead and shoving him back. His grip was still tight, the blade tugging free from the ground as he was sent back into a line of boxes behind him. The rifle was leaning against the window, luckily out of his reach. He shakes his head before looking at Tracks.

"S…Stop, wait a sec, okay?!"

The Sniper lunges forward, and she takes cover beneath the table. He misses, the Tracker kicking the table down to use it as a shield. "It's our JOB!" the blade embeds against the top of the desk, slamming down through one of the cracks and digging into her shoe. Gasping she shoves the desk into him, knocking him down again. Her heart was beating hard, breath speeding up as she slowly reached hysteria. "But I can't!"

"Dammit Tracka you listen to me. This isn' a blimey game, an' this isn' gonna be easy for anyone out here. There's no hard feelings, s'alright. But you're no RED anymore. We…just gotta fight. Else she'll come 'round and get the better of us." What was he talking about? It didn't take long for her to realize what he had meant. With a snarl Tracks shakes her head forcefully, not wanting to give in to the overseer's game, and that only seemed to frustrate the Sniper. He wraps his fingers around the oak wood table, thrusting it to the side with brute strength. "I'm doin' this for yer own good Shiela," his voice rough and overpowering, panic welling in her chest. Once her back hits the wall she feels the surface for something to help her. Perhaps a loose plant to rip off and a crawl space to be discovered. "Please, please Snipes this ain't fair, man!" her throat was audibly tight, her words a mere whimper that she cursed herself for. And there it was, that large and heavy blade pulled up over her head, the strong scent of coffee and tobacco, the thick stains of dry blood that stained and clotted his kukri; his beloved kukri that was about to slice her skull in a messy, uneven half. And somewhere in Tracks mind clicked that this wasn't a joke, and that he wasn't going to turn around and stop because he couldn't not hurt her. Not being in that position to say no or refuse, or else something bad were to happen. That made her mind snap. Without thinking she grabs her gun, pulling the trigger. The loud echo of her gun was like a staccato, each bullet louder than the previous. Ears rung, eyes wide open, and she was screaming the entire time. It wasn't until she let go when she realized what just happened. The bump of a body falling limp upon the ground made her heart skip a beat.

"…nn…Snipes…" her grip loosens, the gun slipping from her hands. Hunching forward she shakily crawls towards the body cold behind the table. Mangled flesh and flashes of broken white, laid out on the ridged floor motionlessly. She jerks back, her hands covering her face. "Snipes! Nnnno…no…it's not fair…!" The scent of cigarettes makes her nose cringe, and she snaps her head to the side. Oh God, not another person. Not the Spy. Tracks held her breath at the sight of him, the man too caught off guard to even blink. Lips pressed together, fingers curled into fists. He was worried this would happen. "…Tracker, it's alright," but before he could continue she grabs her gun, pointing it towards him, a look of fear in her eyes. "Just…back up!" her words here forced out, throat still tightening and eyes watering. The RED Spy remained in his spot, eyes never leaving hers.

"I-I didn't want to, alright?! I tried to keep away! But he…made me, and I couldn't…FUCK I just can't think!"

Once she reaches the doorway she stumbles out, her feet moving so fast she couldn't even imagine stopping. There was no destination—she just wanted to run from that scene. Hopefully if she could hide away then nothing bad were to come. But damn it all to hell; did she really do this? Did she really kill the Sniper? And is she really trying to shrug it off? The thought of losing such a part of her, something as vital as her humanity, was sickening. But the man didn't give her a choice, and he seemed as if he wanted to be the one to die. If this was a sick form of Sniper training her into becoming stronger than she swore to god she would shoot him in the nuts the next time it happens. Shaking her head she turns the corner. There was no choice in the matter either way; if she ran into a RED she had to kill a RED. Regardless of who it was. But she reaches a pair of stairs, legs so numb that the blood might have even halted from rushing through quivering veins. Her face slams into a firm surface, her nose cringing in a new found pain that, for a split second, made her forget what she was running from. Stumbling back she lands on her butt, the incline of the steps almost causing her to roll down along the uneven surface. Luckily her palm catches herself, saving her from the dangerous fall. "Shit!" a growl, and as a response she pulls her gun up and points it forward. The person before her did so as well.

Damn. God, dammit, dammit, dammit.

This really was going to be inevitable. Teeth bit down hard on the soft flesh of her lip, neither one of them moving. "…fuck," the Scout grumbles, arms growing tense. "…what the hell are you doing down in the battlefield?!" he snarls, furry pricking with each and every word. That startles her almost, and in response she strikes him a glare.

"What makes you think I wouldn't be down here?! BLU team's Sniper doesn't want my help—nobody does!"

Slapping a palm over his headset he growls harshly, "Dammit, I was trying to avoid you! Why'd you have to go and mess everything up!" A foot slams against his shin, failing to shove him back. "Shut up!" her voice was breaking half way into her sentence, the Tracker's eyes swelling up and growing more red by the second. Scout bites down on his tongue, shoulders tensing. "Quit treaten' me like your girlfriend; you dumped me for a reason! To make this easier, am I right?"

Shoving his back harder against the steps he couldn't find any words to retort—to relate. And that only gave her the more reason to go on. "I get it—this sucks. Life sucks—the Admin is a bitch! There hasn't been a moment that passed when I didn't think about how to fix any of this, but there ain't one! Spy couldn't think of anything, and Snipes…" her eyes darted off, and her body shivers at the name. Scout's eyes widen, his gut beginning to clench. Did she really kill Snipes?

"So there, stop trying to protect me and fight me! Because we ain't got a choice!" There—that sentence that screamed yes, I talked to Sniper or Spy. He jumps when her gun raises again, the nozzle pointing directly to his chest. His breathing hitched, his eyes turning dry from the heated air, yet he couldn't blink. How was he going to find this fair? To find this easy to do? And if he did do it, how long until he could actually grow to accept it. Narrowing his eyes he raises his hand, grabbing her nozzle and pointing it to the side away from his body. "Shaddap—I ain't killin' you." Yanking her gun free she points it at him again.

"Quit screwing around Scout! Neither of us have time to be belligerent about this, it's our jobs!"

"Well she can fire me!" Her words jumbled in her throat, the Scout's eyes rekindling with a new mixture of emotions as he tosses his Scattershot behind him. This wasn't right—Scout was a mercenary! Why would he go and quit on killing someone so easily. "…p…pick your gun up," she tries to keep a strong voice, but the now stoic look in her eyes made her cringe. "No! I don't got the guts to kill you Tracks! I can't—I never thought of what to do about this before, when I said the shit I said. I didn't plan this part!" And the panic was back in her chest as he went on—shit she already knew. How tempting it was to shut him up during this damn excuse of a confession, but she couldn't work her leg up to. It was like being frozen all over again. These were things she deleted from her memory; the feelings that flooded in her again. She didn't care about the Scout. Nope, she didn't care about him. There were no hard feelings—he can easily respawn. She did it with the Sniper she could do it with him too. All she had to do was label all of this as bullshit. She may have been a child for everything, but the Scout was more of a child for pretending to understand in the first place.

"So there, I'm a fuckin' pussy and a dumbass. I said it before. I. Ain't. Killing. You. I just…can't! Either buzz off," he leans forward, closing the distance between his chest and the very tip of her weapon. "Or kill me."