Hoo-boy here we go.
Admittedly my feelings about this chapter are swinging wildly between giddiness and sheer terror. I'll be honest: in order for me to pull off this chapter successfully and avoid cheap shock, I had to lay a careful breadcrumb trail of little details and hints and clues. I had to walk a fine line between spelling out what was happening and leaving you guys wanting more. I had to trust that I characterized certain characters in such a way that their actions lined up with their internal goals and values. Did I do it correctly? That's not for me to say. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the corner frozen in sheer terror.
Thanks to Bel, as always, and Terminal Nostalgia for the extra beta work; and thanks to Boomsheika and Castmachine for kicking me into high-gear when I needed it.
Chapter Twenty-Four: Cowards Die Many Times
It was now or never, she knew. It was do or die. She would never get another chance like this.
Deep in the bowels of Gray Mann's facility, Bianca paused around a corner in order to gather her nerves. Giancarlo was gone, her father was distracted by the news reports flowing in about the ongoing robot attack, and the rest of the facility had gone dark. If she lost her courage now, it was all over. If she failed, she risked more than one life tonight. Bianca glanced down at her watch. She had seven minutes.
She forced herself to continue on down the narrow gray corridors to the workshop. Engineer had been in there for days now, experimenting with the robots non-stop. She hadn't come to see him since he'd learned about the robots, out of propriety. Propriety…and the odd desire not to see Engineer mad at her.
She had just crossed into Engineer's workshop when someone grabbed her from behind, pulling her against the wall with a firm hand clapped to her mouth. "Listen here, darlin'," a voice in her ear hissed, "you're gettin' me outta here, or else I'm gonna be forced to use unsavory methods to—"
Bianca shoved Engineer's hand away and spun on her heel. "Yes, yes! I'm getting you out!"
"I—" All of Engineer's carefully-planned threats died on his tongue. He blinked at her. "You are?"
"Yes, of course I am! Now, grab what you need to—we don't have time to waste!" Bianca looked around once before exiting again.
This, admittedly, was not how Engineer had seen this conversation going, and he was left gaping after her. He stood stock-still for so long that Bianca was forced to double-back to glare at him. "Hurry along, Mister Conagher, we don't have all day!"
"I—" Engineer shook his head "Hold on a tic, Bianca! Just what in the name of Sam Hill are you doing?"
Bianca rolled her eyes. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting you out of here. For good. But we have to move fast, while Giancarlo is gone and my father is distracted." She took another hard look around the room in search of hidden cameras.
Engineer's eyes narrowed at once. "Distracted?" Nothing that could distract Gray Mann away from his pet project could possibly be any good. He edged away from Bianca. "And what's stoppin' me from knockin' you out cold and leaving here on my own?" He reached backwards, one hand curling around a wrench.
Instinctively she reached out to stop him, and then thought better of it. She let her hand fall to her side. "You don't have to trust me," she said in a soft voice. "You only have to trust the people who want to make this right." She reached up to fiddle with the neckline of her purple blouse.
Something in Engineer's eyes flickered. Slowly he relinquished his grip on the wrench. "How," Engineer stressed the word as best he could, "exactly, do you plan on getting me out of here?"
She had his attention, and that was always a good place to start. She rolled her shoulders back to stand straighter. "The security is set to fail in five minutes. Nothing too drastic—it'll be a flicker, a blip, just a few seconds of darkness. But it'll be enough. So…grab what you need. I'll be waiting."
She left again. This time Engineer didn't hesitate: he grabbed for his work-belt, his toolbox, his goggles, and the glove that covered his mechanical hand. He was just about to dash out the door when a low hum stopped him dead at the threshold.
Engineer looked back over his shoulder at the small black box that housed the two vials of liquid Australium. His gaze flicked from the box to the brown stain on the wall. The noise scratched at the back of his mind, and it made up his mind for him. He grabbed the little box and set it inside his toolbox. "It can't stay here," he explained to the empty room, "it's done enough damage."
Bianca was anxiously checking her watch when Engineer joined her. She didn't even acknowledge his presence, just spun around and started down the corridor. Engineer had to jog to keep up with her. "Now here's the million-dollar question for you, Bia." Engineer tried to keep his tone conversational even as tightened his grip on his toolbox. "Why?"
"Because we'll never get as good a chance as this one—"
"No, no, I mean—why? Gray Mann is your father, and y'all're betraying him—for what?"
Bianca's smile was thin. "He was never a particularly good father. I told you before: my half-brother Blake stands to inherit everything my father has, bastard or no. I wasn't going to let that happen. So I decided to a back a more…reasonable horse." She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, smile twisting a little, and Engineer was suddenly, joltingly reminded of another woman of uncertain scruples.
This only confirmed his early suspicion, but nevertheless the revelation hit him harder than a two-ton brick. His toolbox slipped from his fingers, and he had to grapple to keep it from hitting the floor. He straightened again to gape at her. "You're a double agent?!"
Bianca smoothed out her purple blouse with an undeniably smug look of satisfaction. "Am I good enough actress for Broadway, Mister Conagher?"
"Darlin'," Engineer grinned widely. And to think he had doubted her mastery of deception! "Y'all are going straight to Hollywood Boulevard. What about Giancarlo?"
At that Bianca slowed her pace a little. She bit her lip. "No. He isn't in on this. There was a time I considered letting him in on the secret, but…that was before his accident. Before he became a cyborg. Now he's firmly in Gray Mann's pocket, if only for the sake of revenge." She sighed, the long, heavy sigh of someone who'd been patiently bearing a secret weight for years. So many times she had thought about it, weighing the risks and benefits, considering the consequences…but in the end she hadn't been able to save her husband from himself.
Engineer didn't know what to make of that, exactly. How did a wife keep a secret like that from her husband for so long? He allowed himself an ounce of pity for Giancarlo. "So did you really love him? Or was that all part of the plan too?"
Bianca's eyes flashed. Her expression chilled. "I've made my fair share of mistakes, Mister Conagher, but rest assured when I say that marrying Giancarlo was not one of them."
"You don't think he'll come after you for this?"
"My father? Yes. Giancarlo? No. He'd never hurt me."
"Those are famous last words of women the world all over, Miss Bianca." Engineer couldn't keep the warning tone out of his voice.
"I know that. But I also know my husband better than you do," Bianca snapped. After Engineer gave her a level look she grimaced. "Sorry. That was rude."
"S'all right, Bianca," Engineer replied. "I just want you to stay safe."
It was perhaps the most authentic thing he'd ever said to her. Pink tinged her otherwise pale features and she lowered her eyes to the floor. "I—thank you, Mister Conagher."
"Dell," Engineer corrected.
"Dell," Bianca echoed.
They slipped through the hanger full of deactivated robots, through another door, into a massive garage. Huge, squat, carriers were parked in rows. Engineer eyed them with ill ease, a gut feeling that only strengthened when he saw that a number of the carriers were missing from the ranks. "Bianca…" He looked between her and the carriers. "What is it, exactly, that has your old man distracted?"
Bianca didn't slow her pace as she explained: "Phase Two of his grand plan. A coordinated attack on two fronts. One is meant to demoralize whatever cooperation the international community had left. A robotic army unleashed on an unsuspecting town. Civilians will be slaughtered. Fingers will be pointed. All three major world powers have purchased his robots…and any of them are perfectly capable of the attack."
Fear, cold and hard, twisted Engineer's stomach. "And what's he plannin' on doin' once the big three blow each other to kingdom come?"
"He's going to take what's left for his own."
She didn't elaborate further. Engineer wasn't entirely sure if he wanted her to. "Can it be stopped? The attack?"
"No."
Her curt answer had him scowling. "People are going to die, Bianca."
"There are already agents in place taking care of the situation, Mister—Dell. My priority is getting you to safety."
He was in no position to argue with her, he knew that. So instead he just snorted to show his contempt. "And the second of these two fronts? Destroying more innocent lives?"
"No. It's a retrieval mission…albeit one he didn't realize he would need to put together until very recently. They're after a cache of Australium." Australium and your friends, she almost said. But he'd never go anywhere if he knew his friends were nearby and in danger. She quickened her pace in an effort to leave her guilt behind. "Come quickly."
A modest gray truck waited for them at the other end of the garage. Bianca slid up into the driver's seat, Engineer into the passenger's. "We're just gonna drive right outta here, then?" he asked, trying and failing to keep the nerves out of his voice.
"Yes." Bianca nodded. "That's the plan."
"And you're certain your old man isn't going to notice something off?"
"Absolutely. Gray Mann would be expecting an elaborate escape plan, not something as simple as this." She grinned. "Sometimes the best deception is the one so obvious you'd never even stop to consider it."
Engineer flexed his mechanical hand, the one hidden by a plain yellow work glove. "I suppose I can follow the line of reasoning."
A small beep echoed through the huge garage and one garage door shuttered up. Bianca started the engine. She eased the truck out into the warm night, tires crunching as they rolled over pebbly dirt. Curious despite himself, Engineer leaned forward to study their surroundings.
The deep shadows of night distorted everything around them. Nevertheless Engineer rolled down his window and took a deep, experimental breath. A part of him relished the taste of fresh air even as he tried to determine where he was. He took another deep breath. Mountains. They were somewhere in the mountains. The air here was thin but sharp, and the truck rolled downwards, always downwards, down a cragged, winding trail. The carriers that had come before them had cut deep grooves into the dirt and when the path narrowed, huge faces of rock pressed in on them from both sides. Bianca kept a white-knuckled grip on the truck the entire way down. A few times the truck skidded over pebbles or the road seemed to fall out beneath them. And all the while they waited, hearts in their mouths, straining for a blaring alarm or the roar of vehicles in pursuit.
Engineer held his breath until the road had leveled out. He flexed his fingers to calm enough even as he took another look around. A flat desert landscape stretched out into the open on all sides around them. The emptiness was broken by the occasional tree or shrub, but aside from that the only thing of note was the huge square structure jutting out over the eastern horizon.
Engineer twisted in his seat to watching the huge rock formation that hid Gray Mann's facilities shrink behind them. "Where are we, exactly?"
"Mount Olga."
"Come again?"
"Mount Olga. It's a bunch of old rock formations. The locals consider this place sacred, they call it Kata Tjuta. Gray thought it was therefore the perfect place to build a secret facility. He's been right, so far. And there," Bianca pointed to the square structure to the east. "is Ayers Rock."
Engineer's heart sank somewhere into his feet. "Ayers Rock? Ayers fucking Rock? You mean—"
"We're not in New Mexico anymore," Bianca said.
Necessity had demanded the proximity to the Australium mine. The robots and their carriers would have drawn attention to themselves if they'd barreled over the entirety of the Australian countryside. By positioning themselves in Kata Tjuta, within proximity of Ayers Rock and the surrounding towns, they could strike and then retreat quickly, before the carriers could become more than rumors.
Engineer looked from Ayers Rock to a thick plume of black smoke rising in the far distance. "That's Phase Two, isn't it?" he asked in a low voice. He had his answer when Bianca didn't say a word.
They continued on despite Engineer's private misgivings about the whole thing. Gradually he began to notice that they were following a set of railroad tracks. He made to ask her about where exactly they going, but she shushed him before he could even get a word out. The pitch-black of night had eased into a softer purple by the time the truck came to a stop.
Engineer, who'd been dozing on and off, opened one eye to view the ancient, ramshackle little train station in front of them. It was barely bigger than the boxcar itself, long since abandoned in the wake of bigger, faster, more impressive trains. "Who's supposed to meet me here?" he asked, thinking that this was exactly the sort of place to visit if you wanted to get your throat slit.
Bianca must have heard the doubt in his tone, for a corner of her lips twitched upwards. "My real boss."
His heart missed a beat. "Oh really? I'm that special, huh?"
"Hardly." Bianca shook her head. "She was in the area. It was convenient for her." She left the amount of pleading and begging and bargaining it had taken to consent to this rescue mission unsaid.
Doing someone a favor because it was convenient. Yes, this was sounding like the real deal all right. Engineer got out of the truck and started to stretch. He stopped only when he saw Bianca hadn't followed suit. She remained at the wheel, chewing at her bottom lip.
She had just thrown the truck into reverse when Engineer threw the driver's side door open. "Come with me," Engineer demanded.
"I—what?" She blinked, losing a little of her coolness as she looked down at Engineer.
"I know you're going back there. But doing that will only get you killed."
"Giancarlo—"
"Wouldn't hurt you, I know, I know. But he can't keep you safe either, not for long. Gray Mann will figure out what happened in an instant once he knows I'm gone, and if I have any measurement on the man I know he won't keep a traitor in his ranks for long. Come with me, Bianca!" There was a faint groan as his mechanical fingers dented the truck in his grip. He stared up at her, electric blue eyes blazing.
The gash from Gray Mann's gun, far from healed, throbbed a little. Bianca touched it lightly as she considered Engineer. Then she stepped out of the truck. Engineer smiled and stuck out his hand for her to shake. She shook it with an odd sense of betrayal. I'm sorry, Gian.
She didn't get a chance to sort out her conflicting feelings, because at that very moment headlights flickered on in the distance. She and Engineer turned to watch the sleek black car roll up beside the truck. The driver's side window rolled down.
Bianca stepped up quickly to the car, while Engineer hung back. His heart pounded furiously in his chest and his mouth had gone dry. It was a surreal sensation, listening to Bianca to address the woman in the car.
Bianca was speaking: "—I just wanted to thank you again, I know how much of a risk this is—"
"Don't thank me. He's going to prove useful when we have to visit that pompous ass Charles Darling. If not for convincing him that something worthwhile has come out of this…well, there's always heavy-lifting the Australium."
The voice, crisp and cool, confirmed to Engineer once and for all that this was not some fever dream. It was surreal, hearing that voice in his ears, not distorted by speakers or a television screen. Slowly he stepped up beside Bianca. Engineer glared at the woman in the car, trying very hard not to be pleased to see her. "Helen."
The Administrator smiled thinly and lifted a lit cigarette to her mouth. "Dell."
…
The night was hot, dark, dry, and deathly still.
At least until the caravan of carriers roared down the road at breakneck speed, flanked by an escort of motorcycles.
The Viper had a vice grip on the wheel of the lead carrier. He stared straight ahead into the night, completely lost in thought. The cab around him rattled and clanked with every rock or pothole they hit. It didn't bother the Viper. Nothing did, until the Cajun sat straight up beside him. The Cajun pressed a finger to his ear, listening intently to something coming in over their shared radio channel.
"Jus' got word," the Cajun said. "Giancarlo's already started."
The Viper muttered something under his breath about Giancarlo's impatience. His grip on the wheel tightened a little. He looked unwell, the sweat trickling down the side of his face having little to do with the heat of the cab. The Cajun hadn't seen him this jittery in years, but he knew the Viper's sudden burst of nerves had little to do with their dangerous cargo.
"This plan of yours had better work, sha," said the Cajun, with a surreptitious glance in the Viper's direction. His gaze then shifted to the blue briefcase at his feet.
"It'll work." The Viper gnashed his teeth. The long dirt road stretched ahead of him into the dark. "Giancarlo wants the Sniper alive."
"And de rest?"
Castillo let one hand fall away from the wheel and waited until he felt Edwin grasp it firmly in his own. "Leave them to me." He gave Edwin's hand a firm squeeze, trusting him to know what the silent gesture meant.
…
Kurosawa woke up in the dark.
He stayed still for a very long time, barely breathing, hands folded over his chest. He strained to hear over the sounds of soft breathing and snores, struggling to catch the faint noise that had startled him into awareness.
He was about to blame it all on old age and nerves when it began again. This time Spy stirred beside him. It seemed he wasn't the only light sleeper present. "Priest?" Spy murmured. "Do you 'ear that?"
Kurosawa did: the distant sound of speeding trucks, growing louder with each passing second.
"Aye," Kurosawa replied. He threw off his blanket and jumped out of the bunk he'd dragged himself into hours before. "We need to get moving. Now!"
Spy was two seconds behind him. "LAWRENCE! SCOUT! PYRO!"
The three straight up out of their moth-eaten bedrolls immediately. The commotion had Maggie scrambling up too, and Hale not long after. Scout's hand flew towards his gun. "Frenchie—what's wrong? What's happenin'—"
The low hum had turned into a fully-audible rumble by now. Scout darted to the window. A low moan escaped him as he pointed out to the approaching horde. "There's—uh, there's—ah, shit! These old fucks again!" Kurosawa paused to give him a look even as Scout asked: "What're they doing here?!"
"They've come for the Australium, most likely." As Maggie spoke she yanked on her boots and tugged her jacket into place.
Not all of them, Kurosawa couldn't help but think. Not all of them were here just for the Australium. He gave his wooden cross a squeeze. "How did they know where to find us?"
Saxton's expression darkened. "Darling."
Maggie gave him a sharp look. "We don't know that."
"It's not like anyone else knew where we were—"
"Yes, but we can't go jumping to conclusion!"
"Where's Blake?"
Kurosawa's soft question cut through the sudden tension like a knife. The old man had taken quick stock of room and those present…and, more importantly, those who were not. Now he looked to Sniper with hardened eyes. "Where's your boy, Sniper?"
Sudden silence. Everyone glanced around the old barracks. There was the faint, subsonic sound of seven hearts stopping at once. Sniper in particular had gone pale. Then he scowled. "He's around here somewhere," he said with a clenched fist, as if that was enough to resolve the doubt and panic creeping into his mind.
The stricken look on Sniper's face had Spy's heart squeezing. His Spy instincts roared in his ears, demanding he go find Blake and slice the truth from him. Other, subtler instincts beat the demands back. Blake wouldn't. Blake couldn't. "Lawrence—"
"HE'S AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE!"
Spy actually took a step back away from Sniper, as if physically repelled by the force of his shout. His Spy instincts quietened to a restless murmur. "Indeed," he said, "the boy must be around here somewhere." It was a poorly-time disappearance, nothing more…
"I'll go look for him," Kurosawa volunteered. "Might be he's just been waylaid." He didn't bother to elaborate on what, if anything, could have waylaid Blake.
"Be quick," Maggie said, "because we have to go."
"We can't," Hale said in a voice too soft for a man so large. He had turned towards the window to watch the approaching carriers. His bulky mustache twitched a little in muted fury.
"Can't?" Scout repeated in disgust. "Why not? I'm not sittin' around waiting for my ass to get blown sky-high!"
"If we leave, the Australium here is undefended. We can't let Gray Mann have it, not after all the effort it took to ensure he got the fake stuff."
"Bugger the Australium! If I had my way it'd all be destroyed!" Sniper scowled as he grabbed for his boots. "We're leaving!"
Hale clenched his fists. "Mann cannot have the Australium!"
"It's too heavy to take with us, Sax," Maggie snapped, "and there's too much of it besides! We'll all die trying to protect it, and Mann will get it anyway!"
"We can't leave the Australium and we can't take it with us," Spy said, loud enough to drown out everyone else. He flipped an unlit cigarette through his fingers, the slightest hint of his nerves. "So, what do we do?"
Hale looked to Maggie. Maggie looked to Kurosawa, who looked to Pyro, who looked to Scout, who looked to Spy, who looked to Sniper, who was too busy tying up the laces on his boots to notice. When he finally did look up, he automatically paled at the sight of six silent people staring at him. "Wot? Wot did I do now?"
"You seem intent on destroying the Australium, bushman," Spy inclined his head. "Any particular ideas as to how?"
Sniper straightened up. He breathed out slowly through his nose and rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs. His eyes locked on Pyro. He knew in an instant what had to be done. "Py. That Australium needs to go. All of it."
Pyro understood instantly. She saluted him with a solemn "Huddah".
Hale started as Pyro grabbed her flamethrower. "NO! The Australium—"
"Is too valuable to go to Gray Mann," Sniper said firmly. "And too evil to stay."
"That's some of the last Australium Australia has—!"
Sniper's eyes narrowed. He stood. "Good! Maybe once it's gone all you true Australians will quit actin' like a bunch of damn fools!" Sniper seemed taller than usual then, tall enough to look Saxton Hale dead in the eye as he spoke. He didn't back down until Hale scowled and gave the barest of concessions. Across the room Spy grinned, his face full of fierce pride.
Sniper didn't see it. He had wheeled around to Pyro. "I dunno the melting point of Australium, exactly. We'll keep 'em busy while ya do wot ya can. Okay?"
"Huddah-huddah." Pyro nodded.
Maggie stepped forward. "I'll go with her. Non-Australians can't handle being near the stuff for long. Even with a suit as thick as yours." She smiled at Pyro, who nodded.
"Good. When yer good to go, head 'round to the yard." There were old military trucks there, ones that could still run with the proper tweaking. "Send up a signal flare, and we'll be there."
"With any luck," Spy added quietly.
Scout scoffed and snatched up his baseball bat. "We don't need luck, man. We got pure skill." Nearby Hale cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders back in anticipation for a fight.
Pyro made a small noise and yanked off her mask. "SCOUT! LAWRENCE! PHILIPPE!" As one they turned back to her. Her heart was in her mouth. Now would have been a good time for sentiment, to tell them all how much she appreciated them all. But she could think to say was a soft: "…please be careful."
Sniper and Scout both gave her a thumbs-up of assurance before darting out after Hale. Spy made to followed. He looked back over his shoulder, pausing long enough to say: "You as well, Irene."
…
The lights on the lower-level of the outpost flicked on. Maggie bounded down the flight of stairs two at a time. Even down here the rumbling could be heard, grumbling like a distant storm, and her panic gave her haste. She didn't slow down for Pyro, just waved a hand in the general direction of where they were going. "The Australium is this way, Py."
Pyro waddled after her, down a long hallway to a set of double doors—and then stopped short. Seeping out from behind the door, audible even through her mask, was noise. She couldn't put a finger on what sort of noise it was, exactly: one moment it sounded like a scratching against the wall, the next a dull murmur of voices. It cut through the world around Pyro like an invisible knife. She was suddenly, awfully, aware of what Sniper had been enduring in silence.
Maggie sensed her discomfort. "Real Australium has that effect on people," she explained. "That's why only Australians can be exposed to it for long periods without going mad. Well, mostly." A corner of her mouth twitched upwards.
"Smmphro?"
Maggie didn't need an Engineer around to translate. She shrugged. "Sniper…well, there are exceptions to everything. Why do you think everyone considers him a freak?"
Pyro growled.
"Right, right, sorry." Maggie stepped up to the double doors and withdrew a key card from her pocket. "Just…stay back."
Cold, golden sunlight burst forth, and the murmur in Pyro's mind escalated into a dull roar. She took a deep breath and pushed forward into the storage room. It was a huge space, perhaps as big as the barracks, filled wall-to-ceiling with gleaming golden bricks of Australium. Pyro's stomach flip-flopped. Her grip on her flamethrower tightened.
Fwip—fwip—FWOOSH.
Heat and fire blasted the artificial sunlight backwards. The noise in Pyro's head rose to a high shriek. The shriek burrowed into her mind, bursting through her skull so that pinpricks of light danced in front of her eyes. She gritted her teeth and held on to the trigger. The flamethrower rumbled in response, flames burning white as they washed over the Australium. Slowly the bricks began to lose their shape, melting together in a golden blob, rivulets of hot Australium running across the floor. At the same time the noise in Pyro's head quietened to a faint hiss of frustration.
You killed Radigan Conagher, the part of Pyro that was Irene said with unmistakable triumph. Now I'm killing you.
The ruined, bulbous mass of Australium cracked and bubbled by the time the fuel in Pyro's flamethrower began to die. She allowed a few more flames to sputter out before straightening up. Maggie had retreated to the end of the corridor, out of the way of the heat, but even from a distance Pyro could see her crestfallen expression.
"Darling and Sax won't be happy," Maggie sighed. "But I suppose it can't be helped—"
BOOM.
The rumble had the entire base shaking. Maggie bent her knees to retain her balance while Pyro straightened right up. Pyro looked into the ceiling with head tilted to the side.
BOOM.
A second rumble, closer now. Pyro "HUDDAH"'d and grabbed for the flare gun at her waist. She set it on the ground and kicked it towards Maggie. Maggie looked between the debris sprinkling down from the ceiling and flare gun at her feet. "Pyro—what are you—"
BOOM!
The corridor exploded into a thousand little pieces. Pyro went staggering backwards from the force of the explosion. The blast nearly took her off her feet. Arms pinwheeling, scrambling for a hold, she tipped backwards towards the piping-hot pile of Australium—
"HUDDAH!"
A strong hand grabbed hers, yanked her back to her feet. She blinked wildly, trying to get the world to make sense again. It almost did…but then it was the old BLU Pyro who came into her vision, clutching her gloved hand firmly in her own. The old BLU gave her a friendly sort of finger-waggle in a hello. "Huddah," she said again.
The only thought Pyro could completely process was an oddly calm 'What the fuck'. She jerked her hand out of the other Pyro's grasp. Her hand flew to the ax at her back. The other Pyro just chuckled and shook her head.
Something behind her hissed. But it wasn't the hiss of Australium. It was the hiss of a Spy decloaking. On instinct she wheeled around, grabbing for the flare gun no longer at her hip, ready to blast away the Viper smiling idly at her.
He just inclined his head a little. "My sincerest apologies, Señora Pyro."
Faster than might have been expected for her advanced age, the BLU Pyro drew her own ax and bashed Pyro over the head with the handle end. Pyro stood stunned. And then crumbled to the floor in an unconscious heap.
The Viper stepped around her gingerly. He gave the ruined Australium a disinterested once-over before addressing the BLU Pyro: "Take care of her, will you?"
The Pyro gave him a thumbs-up as he picked his way around the rubble.
One down. Seven to go.
On the other side of the ruined corridor Maggie got to her knees with a gasp, choking on debris as it fell down around her. One hand closed around the flare gun. Have to get up, have to get the others—signal flare, signal flare—
Her scrambled thoughts were cut short by a cheery "Knock-knock!"
The BLU Demoman stood in the crumbling hole he'd blasted through the wall, casually tossing a grenade up and down in his hand. He flashed the stunned Maggie a grin. "Room service."
Maggie tensed. She only had the flare gun in hand, but perhaps—if she went low and took him off his feet—but then there was the issue of the grenade…
"I could kill you for what you lot did to Sol," the BLU Demoman's thumb flicked against the ring of the grenade with a dangerous nonchalance. "I just might."
"Gregory, ya damn fool! Stop scarin' de girl!"
Suddenly the Cajun had the Demoman by the collar, pulling him backwards away from Maggie. He snorted in contempt. "Go find somethin' else to blow to bits." He turned to Maggie. "Ya ain't hurt, are ya, girl?"
Maggie got to her feet slowly. She shook her head.
"Good. Don't mind him too much," the Cajun jerked a thumb over his shoulder, "he jus' gits a little excitable." He shifted in place, the blue briefcase in one hand knocking against his thigh. He had his sniper rifle slung across his back, but he made no attempt to remove it. He stood still and defenseless, smiling at Maggie.
Maggie eyed him warily. "You're…not going to kill me?"
"Naw. Not ya, and not ya friends neither. Oh, we gotta give it de college try, lest unsavory suspicions be aroused," the Cajun admitted with a ponderous tug of his beard. He indicated the ruined corridor around them, the rubble that separated Maggie from Pyro. "But we ain't gonna try very hard. Gray Mann shoulda known better—no good Catholic like me will consent to killin' a Priest an' his polite company." He tossed Maggie the blue briefcase.
She caught it with both hands, knees buckling under the sudden weight. A soft 'ooph' left her. She barely caught her breath again when the importance of what she was holding hit her. Her eyes widened and she looked back up to the Cajun.
"Now ya best git outta here, cher," the Cajun gave her a crooked grin, "I hear there's madmen on the loose. Ya ought to be someplace safe. Someplace like Ayers Rock."
…
"Don't do anything stupid."
As Sniper spoke he fixed his gaze squarely on Scout. Scout did a double-take before looking over his shoulder at Spy. "Yeah, Spy! Don't do anything stupid."
Spy took a long drag of his cigarette. "Believe me when I say, dear boy, my days of stupidly heroic stunts are well behind me." Smoke billowed out of his nose.
"I'll believe it when I see it," Sniper muttered.
The three of them, plus Saxton Hale, had made their way to the rooftop of the outpost. Now they looked out over the three carriers and motorcycles that had rumbled a stop. Everything was deathly still until the BLU Heavy removed his riding goggles. He craned his neck up towards the rooftop. "PUT DOWN YOUR GUNS AND WE'LL GO EASY ON YA!"
Sniper exchanged a look with Saxton Hale before leaning over the waist-high wall. "HERE ARE OUR TERMS AND CONDITIONS: GO FUCK YOURSELF!"
Both Scouts burst out laughing. Spy joined Sniper by the edge. "Where's Elcano?" He called down to the Heavy.
"Busy."
"A pity! 'e should 'ave joined you! I owe him something." Antoine and Henri's regards, he thought bitterly.
"THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE FOR SURRENDER!"
Sniper scowled. "TELL ME, MATE, IS IT 'GO', 'FUCK', OR 'YOURSELF', YER HAVIN' TROUBLE WITH?"
The BLU Scout chortled as the Heavy collapsed back onto his bike. "They always have to make this difficult, don't they?" He waved a hand at their Engineer. "Go on then, start 'em up. Let's hope Castillo knows what he's doing." The last was added in undertones and mostly to himself.
A mechanical shriek rose up from the carriers. The back of the carriers fell open, a ramp lowering itself to the ground. Sniper ducked down behind the wall to spare himself the sight of robots marching out. He took a steadying breath as Scout and Spy crouched down beside him. "One bullet," Sniper slid a bullet out from his vest pocket, "one bot."
"Lawrence—" Spy's voice was strained "—I don't have that many bullets."
"Improvise, then?" Sniper suggested in a weak tone.
Spy glared at him even as Scout spoke up: "Look, we don't have to kill 'em all, right? We just have to give Mags and Py and Priest some time."
"That's not going to do much good if they're already in the building," Spy muttered. He drew his revolver and clicked open the full chamber. He frowned. "The Viper may very well be after Priest. Perhaps I should rejoin 'im—"
Unfortunately all three men had forgotten who they were standing on the rooftop with.
With a fairly heroic roar of "SAXTON HAAAAAAAALE!", the big man in question vaulted off the rooftop and into the gathered horde of robots. He landed with a heavy thud, metal crunching under the heavy tread of his boots. He grabbed two robots and slammed them together before rounding on those behind him, fists flying.
Scout's jaw dropped as Hale punched a bot so hard it exploded on impact. "Holy fuck."
"I'm glad 'e's on our side." Spy flicked away his finished cigarette. "Come on, then. I suppose it would be in poor judgment to let him die."
Sniper outstretched a hand. "After ya."
They landed with guns blazing: Sniper's rifle firing crisp, clean, rapid shots into Medicbots, Spy cloaking to stalk a Demobot, Scout going to one knee to blast the legs out from beneath a Scoutbot.
Hale didn't seem to notice his new company. He flung himself into the heat of battle bodily, oblivious to the spray of bullets that surrounded him on all sides. A manic delight seized him as he tossed robots aside as though they were ragdolls. His world had narrowed to a tunnel, and he could see nothing but gray metal at the other end. Blood roared in his ears. He roared with laughter as metal cracked and crunched beneath his grip. This was what he had been born to do. This was what he was meant for!
A robotic Sniper lifted its rifle to fire on the distracted Hale—and its own head burst into a thousand sparking bits. Scout whooped and redoubled his grip on his scattergun. He leapt over the sparking Sniperbot and fired another round from his scattergun. Bots fell backwards under the sudden spray of bullets. Scout took advantage of the momentary clearing to grab up his bat, swing it around, and smash it into the next of the nearest Medicbot. He darted in-between bots—in and out, this way and that, too fast to catch. He ducked low, out of the bots' limited range of movement, blasting their legs and abdomens to pieces. A wordless roar rose up from deep in his chest as he vaulted over the remains of his kills.
A bullet hissed dangerously close to his ear. Scout stopped dead in his tracks.
He'd spin around and the BLU Scout would be there, the bullet caught deep into his chest. Dark red blood would bubble up around the BLU Scout's mouth and this time there'd be nowhere to run—a Soldierbot landed heavily in front of him, sending him staggering—the Soldierbot raised a rocket gun straight up—Scout was moving slow, too slow—
CRACK.
The Soldierbot shattered into a thousand pieces. Scout shook himself, glanced around for a savior, and then darted back into the fray.
Straddled high on top of a carrier and safely out of the way, the old BLU Scout blew on the smoking end of his shotgun. He tossed a few more caltrops around the robot horde before scooting backwards to enjoy the show.
Hale, meanwhile, had slowed his rage-filled pace to watch Sniper and Spy.
The two REDs were moving so fast they were little more than highly-lethal blurs. They stood back-to-back, a growing hill of dead robots encircling them. Not a word passed between them; they'd fought together too long to have any need for words. Sniper went high and Spy went low; Spy ducked and Sniper spun on his heel, smashing a Demobot's head in with the butt end of his rifle. Spy flicked his knife up through his fingers to stab a Scoutbot in between the joints. It fell just short of Sniper, twitching and sparking. Sniper and Spy were smooth, fluid, a single unit acting with a single mind towards a single purpose. They were a perfect tandem.
Absentmindedly Hale cracked the neck of the Scoutbot in his grip.
"Lawrence." Spy's voice was casual as he rolled over Sniper's back and fired two bullets into an encroaching Pyrobot. "Do you notice anything…off about these bots?"
Sniper grabbed Spy's knife and rammed it into the glass eye of a Demobot. He yanked it back out again with a grimace. "Ya mean aside from their entire existence?"
Spy tugged Sniper's kukri from its sheath and sliced the head of a Scoutbot clean off. "Something like that, yes. Considering what they were built to do…they don't seem to be doing a very good job of it, do they?"
That, admittedly, was true. These bots were moving much slower, much more erratically than the ones that had attacked Teufort. Their aim was off too, Spy noted as a bullet went sailing harmlessly overhead. Either these bots were severely outdated…or they had been tampered with.
A shrill shriek cut his musing short. He spun on his heel to see a bright red spot rising high into the air. Pyro and Maggie.
Scout had seen it too. "THAT'S THE FLARE! LET'S GO!" He bashed his baseball bat against one more bot for vindictive pleasure and bolted around to the back of the building. Sniper and Spy followed, the former whacking Hale to get his attention.
The remaining bots did not give chase. They stayed in a rattling bunch near the carrier, buzzing and sparking.
The old BLU Scout dropped down from the carrier and meandering over to the frowning Heavy. "Should we get after 'em?"
"Nah. Spy knows what he's doing."
The Scout shoved his hands into his pockets. "Ya mean that? Or do you jus' hope Spy knows what he's doin'?"
Heavy didn't reply. That was all the answer the Scout needed.
…
BOOM!
The entire outpost shook with the force of the blast. Blake looked up sharply, fingers curling around the vial of Australium in his hand. He eased up on the wooden crate he was sitting on, wondering if he dared to investigate the noise. Even down here, in the bowels of the outpost, he could hear the ratta-tat-tat of gunfire and the screech of metal. Debris sprinkled down from the ceiling, coating his hair in gray.
The Australium throbbed a little against the palm of his hand. Blake looked down at it again. A part of him knew he should be up there, helping, fighting, but the majority of him had gone numb. There was a hollow ache in his chest. A dull pain pulsed through him with every heartbeat.
Out of the corner of his eye a shadow shifted. Blake jumped to his feet, shoving the vial into his vest pocket. His fingers curled into useless fists as the Viper slid from the darkness. The Viper grinned. "Are you intending to fight me, chico? Hmm," he stepped up to Blake quickly, forcing him backwards against the wall, "you remember how poorly that went for you last time, si?"
Blake said nothing. His green eyes flicked away from the Viper's gaze, over his shoulder. The Viper frowned and spun around to see the Priest standing behind them with fists clenched.
"Hitherto thou shalt come," Kurosawa said quietly, "and no further."
With that, he swung a long arm up and decked the Viper clear across the jaw. The Viper went flying from the force of the blow, skidding across the floor. Kurosawa's gaze snapped to Blake, who stared down at the Viper in amazement. "RUN, BOY!"
This time Blake didn't hesitate. He turned on his heel and bolted out of the room.
The Viper paid him little attention as he propped himself up on his elbows. He licked blood from his lips and squinted at Kurosawa. "That quote you opened with so brilliantly…Book of…Mark?"
"Job." Kurosawa rolled his eyes. "How often did I quote it at you?"
"Not often enough for it to stick, apparently. Look at us," the Viper looked Kurosawa over once with a sad smile. "Two old friends, prepared to battle to the death over our differences—it's enough to get a poet's blood pumping. Although there's usually a woman involved." He sighed as he got to his feet. "I'd prefer it if there were a woman involved."
"There's always Beatrice," Kurosawa suggested.
"Somehow I doubt she would consent to playing the role of distressed damsel. Ah, well," the Viper rolled his shoulders back. "I suppose we'll just have to improvise."
Kurosawa noted, with some unease, that Castillo was as limber as he'd ever been. He forced himself to scowl. "You're going to kill me, then? Just like that?"
The Viper shrugged. The small, sad smile returned. "You know, I tried killing a BLU recently. I didn't really enjoy it. Well, not entirely. Not enough to go through with it."
Kurosawa's scowl deepened. "And yet here you stand."
"And yet here I stand," the Viper admitted. He drew two daggers from their sheaths, watching the way Kurosawa tensed. "Believe me when I say I take no pleasure in this, Priest. But some things must be done."
One dagger went flying towards Priest. He spun to the side to avoid it, which left him open to be tackled by the Viper. They went down in a mess of limbs. All of Priest's breath left him in a rush as he slammed to the floor, but he still had the wherewithal to plant a boot in the Viper's stomach and shove him backwards. He scrambled to his feet, kicking at the Viper as he edged backwards. The Viper was lithe and lean and fast, but Priest always taller, more muscular, and in this cramped space there was little room for the Viper to exploit his maneuverability.
The Viper hissed in frustration. "I wouldn't have to do this, Priest, if you hadn't refused us in the first place!" He sounded oddly hurt as he leapt back to his feet, dodging the fist Priest swung at him. "You chose them over us! REDs over BLUs! You're a coward!"
Priest stopped short. "That is not the choice I made. I chose life over death."
"That choice may not get you very far," the Viper warned. He shifted his grip on the dagger still in his hands.
"Aye." Priest eyed him. "I may die tonight, and by your hands—I have made my peace with that." He charged forward suddenly, grabbed the Viper by the collar, sent him sprawling back to the floor. He planted a boot on the Viper's chest, pressed his superior weight down on his old friend. "But every time you pick up that blade you'll remember what you did, and whose side you chose, and that you chose greed over any semblance of honor. Tell me, Castillo, how much did you demand from Gray Mann to kill one of your own?"
The Viper's eyes flashed. He slashed at Priest's leg with his knife—not deep, just enough to make Priest shout and withdraw. He sprang to his feet, smashing his fist into Priest's mouth. "SHUT UP!"
Priest stumbled backwards from the blow, but he was undeterred. "TELL ME, CASTILLO! I want to know! How much is my life worth to you? A hundred dollars, a thousand—"
"Have you forgotten what you were so easily?" The Viper scowled. "You were a mercenary once, same as us! You have no right!"
Kurosawa wiped his bloodied mouth with the back of his hand. "I have the only right."
The Viper had lost all of his carefully-cultivated irreverence. There was no amusement in this fight. "You gave it all up! You refused it! We could have been great again, Hideo! All of us, the BLUs reunited—Ed and I came to you first—!"
"And you didn't understand when I said no! I never wanted to be great again, Castillo! Not after I saw what great men can do." Priest caught the next punch the Viper threw in his hand. He cracked the Viper's fist to the side, making him cry out in pain. Priest pursed his lips. "You're a great man, but you're a piss-poor human being. Tell me again, Castillo, which of us sold an old friend out for profit? Tell me again, Castillo Elcano, which of us is the coward?"
"SHUT UP!" The Viper wrenched free of Priest's grip, reared back, and slammed Priest bodily up against the wall. The edge of his dagger pressed to Priest's exposed throat.
Silence followed, broken only by the heavy panting of two men who had grown too old for this.
It was Castillo who broke first. He eased up off of Kurosawa and slipped his dagger back into its sheath. When he looked at Kurosawa his eyes were hard slabs of dark green. "I am no coward. And I'm not going to kill you, Hideo. I was never going to kill you. I like you too much to kill you. We all do." His face crumpled. For an instant he looked his age. Then he reached for another holster in his belt. "However, since I can't have you interfering either—"
Faster than Kurosawa could register, Castillo drew a gun and fired. A small thwip noise followed. Kurosawa flinched as a sharp, slight pain drove into his leg like a bee's sting. Instinctively he grasped at whatever had struck him. His fingers brushed against something smooth and cylindrical, too large to be a bullet.
Kurosawa's eyes widened. He looked down from Castillo's burning gaze to his leg, to the dart buried deep into it. His shock slowly transformed into bafflement, and then again into delighted understanding. He burst out laughing. "Castillo, you smug, double-crossing sonuvofa—"
Castillo smashed his fist into Kurosawa's face. The blow, combined with the dart, knocked Kurosawa out cold. He slumped down against the wall. Castillo crouched down, gave Kurosawa an experimental poke, and then pressed a finger to his lips. "Shh, Hideo. You'll ruin my image."
Two down, six to go.
He needed to after Blake before the boy did anything stupid. Nevertheless he lingered for a moment longer, catching his breath and nursing his wounds. Castillo looked over the crumpled and unconscious Kurosawa once again. "I am no coward," he repeated softly. Then he pulled the Viper's mask back over his face and followed Blake into the dark.
He hadn't gone far. The youth stood still, trembling and alone in the hallway, looking both ways as though lost. The Viper cloaked and stepped up to the boy, the distant gunfire covering the sound of his footfalls. He tapped Blake on the shoulder and reappeared.
"Now," the Viper smiled amiably down at Blake, "where were we?"
Blake made to raise something in his hand. The Viper backhanded the boy, sending him sprawling to the ground, the gun in his hand skittering away into the dark. Blake gasped, raising a hand to his bloodied mouth. "Wait—!" Blake shouted. "Wait—wait, no—you don't understand—"
The Viper raised his gun at the prone Blake.
Three down—
"I'M ON YOUR SIDE!"
The Viper stopped short. He blinked several times, licked his lips, and frowned down at the panting Blake. "¿Perdón?"
"I'm—on—your—side," Blake hissed. Each word was an effort. He dragged himself to his feet, clinging to the wall for support. He wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth before spitting a bloody glob at the Viper's feet. "If you'd taken the time to think you would have known that!"
An undeniable change had come over Blake in the last ten seconds. That much the Viper was willing to admit. His round face had hardened, and suddenly his bright green eyes were cold, not much more than chits of ice. Blake grimaced as he balanced himself before scowling up at the Viper. "Gray Mann is my father."
"I'm well-aware," the Viper replied. "It was I who gave you his message, was it not? You're his bastard. The whoreson."
Blake balled his hand into a fist. "Yes," he said tersely, "the message. The warning. Of what would happen if I failed. The message for the bastard. The bastard son he enlisted as a mole on the BLU team. And then…the REDs. Where do you think all his information for the robots came from? Who do you think leaked to him everything he needed to know? Who do you think sent Gray Mann the coordinates to our current location, so you could attack tonight?"
The Viper tilted his head to the side. He wasn't sure if he was convinced or not. "I wasn't informed of this. And if it is true, I've nearly killed you twice now because of it."
Blake's scowl deepened. "How do you think it would have looked, if you'd given your best effort to kill everyone except me? It was a gamble, that the REDs…that Sniper…" he faltered, and took a deep breath. "That they could keep me safe."
Wait, Blake had stammered as the Sniper's van burned behind him, wait! The Viper's heart stopped for an instant. Was this what Blake had been begging him to wait for? Had he been prepared to out himself then and there as a double agent? The Viper's eyes flicked over Blake in sudden consideration. "The entirety of the BLU team is dead because of you." His voice was low and hard and oddly hurt.
Blake flinched. For an instant the other Blake, younger and sadder, reappeared. He looked away. "I didn't know," he answered in a low tone. There was an unmistakable waver in his voice. "I didn't know he would—he didn't tell me that he was going to—I never thought that he'd…the BLUs and REDs weren't…"
You were supposed to have died! The Viper wanted to scream. It was mere luck, chance alone that you survived! You were supposed to be blackened and burned with the rest! Gray Mann fed you his lies, boy, and you fell for them! He doesn't care about you, any more than he does anyone else! He wanted to backhand the young fool, turn on his heel, and leave.
But he held his tongue. The contract had yet to be fulfilled, and if he revoked the contract now there was no doubt in his mind Gray Mann would tie up whichever loose ends threatened his plan. For the sake of his own team, he lowered his gun. "You're going to need more evidence than that, chico."
Without hesitation Blake dug his hand into his vest pocket and withdrew a small, square device. "There. It's the jammer I made. To stop the Respawn. It's the only one of its kind…it's yours now."
The Viper took it. Had it been anyone else watching him, he would have been forced to crush the unique device underfoot. But Blake was looking away, grasping at his hands, too distracted to wonder why Gray Mann's supposed ally would want to keep the device that threatened his Respawn. He slipped the jammer into a pocket.
The Viper drew back a little, appraising the sullen Blake. Something flickered in his eyes as he considered how far he would have to play this game. "What are you willing to do to prove yourself, chico?"
"Anything," Blake answered, a little too quickly. "Anything you need me to do."
Internally Castillo's chest constricted. Externally he laughed and nodded. "Ah, I was afraid you'd say that. You want to prove you're on our side, Blakey-boy?" He tossed his gun to Blake, who caught it in both hands. He watched Blake stare at it, first in confusion, and then in mounting horror. The Viper bared his teeth a little.
"Go bag us a dingo."
…
There was a weight at his hip that didn't belong there.
The door to the yard was only a few feet away, but for Blake Porter the corridor stretched on forever. He moved slowly, cautiously, his heart pounding in his ears like a vicious drum. A hot, sour taste rushed up into his mouth as his stomach twisted.
He couldn't do this. He couldn't. Not to Lawrence Mundy, who'd been so patient with him. He couldn't betray everything Lawrence Mundy had done for him—
—could he?
He was already past the point of redemption. He'd been past the point of redemption the moment the last BLU had drawn their breath. Because he was no true BLU. He had been an infiltrator, a mole, betraying all their secrets back to Gray Mann.
I DIDN'T KNOW! He wanted to scream. He hadn't even realized what was going on, really, until the BLU Spy had shoved him backwards into the safety of the briefcase room. Then all he could do was sit and listen to the sounds of dying men, men who'd called him one of their own, men he'd betrayed.
And now he was being asked to do it again.
Well, that wasn't entirely true, was it? He'd betrayed their confidence well before this. He'd understood the message the Viper had delivered the first time with a knife through his wrist. Don't fail me, the message had meant. Remember who you belong to. He wasn't a Mann, not yet, but he could be if he did this, if only he kept an eye on all the wayward REDs said and did. He'd obeyed. Like a good little machine he'd listened and did exactly what he'd been told. All he had to do now was obey, and he could have a place, a sense of belonging, a family.
Sniper gave you all that too, a little voice in his head said. Sniper and all the REDs did. And they never asked for anything in return.
Blake's breath hitched and he stumbled up against the wall. He slipped down to curl into a ball, breathing hard and fast to fight back his tears. How could he choose between his blood and his friends? How could anyone make that choice?
He was about to stand up, throw the Viper's gun back at him, and tell him to go fuck himself when a faint heat stirred against his heaving chest. The vial of Australium. Blake sniffled and swallowed hard. He'd kept the vial of Australium for himself. He'd kept it for himself, just like he'd kept all his secrets.
If he told the REDs what he was, they would hate him. If he betrayed them, they would hate him.
He'd made his choice the instant he plucked the Australium from Radigan Conagher's grave. It didn't matter what he did now. He had passed the point of no return. There would be nowhere for him to go if he turned back. If he kept going, there was the promise of belonging, of recognition—the faintest glimmer but a glimmer all the same. It was selfish, he knew. It was selfish and cruel. But he was half a Mann, after all.
And a Mann was nothing if not selfish.
I'm sorry, Mister Lawrence. He's the only family I have. And my family is not as forgiving as yours.
…
Spy broke the lock on the fence gate with the butt of his revolver, throwing it wide open for the truck Maggie was currently hotwiring. Scout had jumped into the back of the truck, as had Sniper. Both stood still with guns at the ready.
"Where to?" Hale demanded as he swung up into the passenger seat.
"Ayers Rock!" Maggie answered.
Hale started. He twisted to stare at Maggie, eyes widened in horror and disbelief. "Ayers Rock?! Are you crazy?!"
"Just…" Maggie's nostrils flared. "Just try me on this, Sax."
From the back of the truck Scout paled. "What about Py? And Priest? And Blakey? Where are they? We can't just leave without them!"
Where are they? Maggie had told them she had gotten separated from Pyro, but that didn't mean anything when it came to Pyro's personal safety. Sniper eyed the outpost, shifting his grip on his gun. His pounding heart was in his throat, making it difficult to speak. "We won't, Scout. We won't. I promise." Where could they be? Out of the corner of his eye he saw Spy climbing into the back of the truck. "Two more minutes and we'll go get 'em."
The door of the outpost flew open. Sniper's rifle flew to eye level—and then immediately lowered as Blake came stumbling out of the outpost. He was limping, tears streaming down his face. Sniper set his rifle down before swinging out of the back of truck, jogging over to meet Blake.
He caught Blake as he sagged forward. "You all right, lad?"
"Yeah," Blake gasped, even as he trembled. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"Anyone comin' behind ya?"
Yes, the Viper is right behind me. We have to leave! We have to go! Blake shook his head. "No."
"Ah." Sniper's face fell and his grip on Blake tightened. "Damn. C'mon, we can't be standin' in open ground when there are murder bots on the loose."
Blake looked up at Sniper then, really looked at him, stared at the tanned face and the faded scar and the blue eyes. For an instant he couldn't breathe. For an instant there was a gaping hole where his lungs should have been. Suddenly reality was fluid and everything was running together like wet paints on a canvas, and the entire world lurched to the side. Sniper's hand on his shoulder seemed to be the only thing that was real anymore. Blood roared in his ears, blocking out Sniper's reassuring words, and his heart pounded so hard against his ribcage that it felt as though it were trying to escape. There was a weight at his hip that didn't belong there.
Then Sniper released him and suddenly the weight was in his hands. Suddenly Sniper's back was him, and it struck him what a thing that was: to leave your back exposed to someone, to turn and walk away from someone with full confidence. Especially Sniper. How many knives had he taken in the back? How many bullets? And still he turned his back on Blake. Because he trusts me. He shouldn't have done that, he thought, he should not have done that. Why did he do it?
"Mister Lawrence," the voice he spoke with belonged to someone else, someone different, "Mister Lawrence, I—"
Sniper stopped and half-turned back to him, puzzled.
"I'm sorry, Mister Lawrence."
His racing mind muted the gunfire, slowed everything down to a crawl. Sniper jerked backwards, staggering back from the force of the blow. He didn't yell; he didn't gasp; he didn't say a word. He just stared at Blake. Sniper's hands gripped at his stomach, but Blake didn't look at the wound. He forced himself to meet Sniper's eyes. They're blue, he realized, and seemed as though he were looking Sniper in the eyes for the first time. His eyes were blue like his uniform, blue like the BLUs—but they weren't a bright, fierce blue any longer but a blue horrified and pained and confused—
And then Sniper crumpled to the ground.
The hole in his lungs expanded to his entire chest, sucking everything about Blake Porter inside it. He went numb, suddenly, and very cold.
In the back of the truck the unmistakable crack of a loaded gun had Spy spinning on his heel with revolver in hand, ready to face the Viper. But what he saw instead didn't make sense. What he saw instead was Lawrence, clutching at his stomach. What he saw instead was Lawrence's legs buckling, Lawrence collapsing to his knees. What he saw instead was Blake standing over him, lowering the gun in his hand.
No, he thought at once. No, this was a trick. This wasn't real. He'd been struck by the Viper's hallucinogens without realizing it—this was nothing more than a nightmare, a bad vision, because Blake wouldn't—Lawrence couldn't—Lawrence was sprawled out on the pavement, Blake looking down at him with an expression almost mystified—no, no, this wasn't real, it couldn't be real—
Then Scout was shouting in his ear. Then the Viper had materialized beside Blake and planted a hand on his shoulder. Then Blake was looking up to Spy. Bright green met gray-blue. And that was when Spy's stomach bottomed out. That was when he knew it was no bad dream.
No, no. No no no no no no no no no—
"NO!"
He pulled the trigger, but the Viper yanked Blake out of the way of his bullet. Spy didn't care. He took two steps forward, preparing to unload his chamber into Blake's head, prepared to fire again and again and again until the little fucker was dead, until Blake felt even a fraction of what was coursing through his veins like poison. The world had burned to a cinder around the edges of his vision, and all he saw was Lawrence—Lawrence, stunned and falling, Lawrence, still and unmoving on the ground, Lawrence, Lawrence—not again, not again, he couldn't lose him again, not like this, not now—people were screaming in his ear and he didn't know whether it was Scout or Antoine or Henri, he didn't know where he was anymore, all he knew was that he needed to kill. "PORTER!" And the name twisted something foul and disgusting in his mouth, worse than Judas Iscariot, worse than anything. "PORTER!"
The world around him lurched and Spy stumbled. A pair of arms grabbed by the chest, hauled him backwards into the truck as it took off with a screech of tires. Spy shouted, throwing the arms off him, lunging forward—no, no, they were leaving Lawrence behind—STOP, he tried to scream, but the words were caught in his throat, digging into his flesh like knives—NO, NO, NO!—not Lawrence—a wordless cry of anguish went up as Blake and the Viper and Lawrence shrank into the distance. It took Spy longer than it should have to realize he was the one screaming.
His legs buckled and the arms were back around him, lowering him to the floor. Scout's face wavered in front of him, pale and young and frightened. Spy didn't see him.
A deception so obvious you'd never stop to consider it.
Those had been Hale's words, spoken with a smile and a hint of pride. Of course, of course—it all made sense. It was all simple. So deceptively simple. But he had considered it at the outset, hadn't he? And he, fool that he was, had decided to trust Blake. Because Sniper trusted him. And if he couldn't trust Sniper, Spy had thought at the time, than there was no one he could trust anymore.
It was so absurd to his scrambling mind that a cold laugh bubbled up in his throat. Spy pressed his palm to his forehead. His laughter twisted into a rattled sob. Panting so hard it sounded like he was choking, Spy sank against the wall of the truck. For a long time he sat, staring at straight ahead, still and unmoving save for the occasional tremor. Scout stared at him, uncertain of how to help, uncertain of what to do. Spy was gone, and a very different man had taken his place.
"Spy," he whispered after an eternity, "Spy, hey. Hey. Spy."
Spy didn't answer him, although the sound of Scout's voice roused him. He stirred, blinked slowly, and then grabbed for the butterfly knife at his belt. Spy made a small, precise cut on the left side of his suit, just over his heart. The butterfly knife slipped from his fingers. Spy sat back and cradled his head in his hands.
He didn't move again, didn't speak, not until hours later when he gently pushed Lizzie Mundy out of his arms.
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," the man who had been Spy said to the trembling Lizzie, to the horror of Demoman and Heavy and Pauling. "I am so, so sorry."
…
Blake Mann stared after the retreating truck with dull eyes. "Are you going after them?"
"Why would we? We got what we came for." The Viper had already warned his team about the change in plans. They couldn't risk defying Gray Mann with a mole so attached to the man present. The Viper would have to play his role a little longer, and hope Priest wouldn't hate him too much for it. He gave Blake a sidelong look before crouching down in front of Sniper.
Well…at least he wouldn't be going back to Gray empty-handed.
Sniper stirred and moaned. His fingers curled around the tranquilizer dart buried deep into his stomach. He looked up to the Viper with eyes unfocused and half-lidded. The Viper smiled down at him genially before he slammed his fist into Sniper's face. Sniper collapsed down again, unconscious.
"Well," the Viper stood again. "This ought to make Giancarlo's evening. Come take a look at your handiwork, boy." He grabbed Blake by the shoulder and steered him over to look at Sniper sprawled out on the pavement.
The Viper's grip on his shoulder was just as strong as Sniper's had been. He looked down at Blake with dark green eyes burning. Blake swallowed hard and shoved the Viper's gun back towards him. "There," he said in an emotionless tone, "it's done."
"Yes," the Viper agreed. He tilted his head to the side to better consider Blake's stoic expression. Then he looked back to Sniper.
God help you, boy. Castillo Elcano couldn't help but to think. Now you are truly lost.
END PART THREE
Note 1: A Game of Thrones reference? In my fanfiction? It's more likely than you think!
Note 2: It's been a full year (yes, it has) since Part 3 started, so I feel it's good to remind people that 'End Part Three' does not mean the end of Machines Don't Bleed. Part 4 starts next chapter.
Note 3: Part 4. Final showdown. Get hype.
Ciao for now,
Chaos