Author's Note: This chapter is one of those that has a few tiny little details in that, if noticed, will make people's jaw drop. Mind you, I'm afraid you've missed them in the past. For instance, did any of you notice that Engineer has a robotic foot? It's mentioned in SITC. If you didn't spot that, shame on you. What is weird is I wrote that before the Roboot cosmetic item came out. Valve really need to stop coping my ideas! There are other little bits scattered through this series. I'll leave you to find them...

In other news: America: What. The. Fuck?! You voted for the narcissistic, groping windbag? I do wonder how long he'll last, though. Will he get impeached? Will he suffer a nervous breakdown? We can only hope. My prayers are with you, people of the US.

The Shadow On The Reef

Chapter Twenty-Five: Unusual Visitors

"Behind every crime is a story of sadness." - Enrique Pena Nieto

Théo got out of Marcus' two-seater and stood up with a resigned sigh, looking up at the tall building in front of him. The last time he had seen this building, it had been the headquarters of the Gray Gravel company- an elegant tower block marred by a blackened and wrecked top floor. Now, the top floor had been repaired. He could see where the explosion had been, though- the new concrete was paler and less worn than the old. Around this main building, the nearby islands now had bridges stretching to them, joining the entire complex together like a spider's web. Théo wondered if one day that spider's web would catch the entire world.

He had never wanted to come back here. After the defeat of Gray Mann, he had had endless nightmares that the robots had come back, or that he was still working for TF Industries, killing identical copies of himself over and over and over and over...

Sometimes, he woke up drenched in sweat. Other times, he woke up screaming. Realistically, he knew he had had no alternative than to retire from Spy work. He was completely burnt out and exhausted. How his clones kept going, he had no idea, but then...that seemed to be the way the cloning system worked. The only reason for it that Théo could think of was that they knew they were clones, and that therefore the multiple tangled threads of responsibilities and obligations that followed one through life were truly severed for them. They really could make the 'fresh start' so many people dreamed of, but failed at.

One thing was certain: the three surviving Violets- Spy, Sniper, Demo- all had escaped or retired in some way. Demo had left first and joined the RED team in Teufort, years before. Violet Sniper, his sources told him, was rarely seen above water these days, and he, Violet Spy, had tried to escape and have a normal family life. He had mostly succeeded, he felt. Not entirely, but mostly.

As he and Marcus had travelled down from Boston to the Bahamas, he had heard the full story of Jacques' unfortunate fate. As the tale unfolded, he had rapidly lost his appetite, and by the end of the journey, he was surviving on cigarettes and nerves. He wryly observed that he had been starting to get worried about the effect his fiancée's cooking had been having on his waistline, but that this sorry affair would sort that out for a while for a while, at least.

He took a deep breath and paced towards the Institute. A shiny polished sign proclaimed the name, and he entered the lobby, his lips twisted sourly as he noticed a bullet hole in the concrete by the main door.

"Spy! Good to see you again. You're looking well." Miss Pauling walked over to him with a pleased smile, her heels tapping on the polished stone floor. She still had her clipboard, he noticed. "It's a shame you had to visit us for such a serious reason. I'd be happy to show you some of our latest developments. Um, can I get you anything? You don't have your mask. I guess you'll be wanting one..."

"Non, merci," Théo cut her off quickly. "I am no longer Violet Spy, and I would ask you to remember that."

Miss Pauling went silent for a moment, her eyes flicking over him, before giving a short nod. Théo had always known she was an intelligent and capable young lady, but the last year had removed some of the old naiveté. Some, but not all. He schooled his face straight as he remembered a late-night conversation with Bobby and Rick after one too many glasses of wine... apparently, she was still very naive in some areas even now...

"Of course," Miss Pauling nodded swiftly, interrupting his thoughts. "I'm sorry I had to get you involved in...all this. Just so you know where to place the blame, it was my idea to summon you. Oh, and yes, I'm in respawn, in case you're wondering for any reason...anyway. We've prepared a guest suite for you. While you're here, you've got VIP status. Anything you need will be provided. Clara Pauling will be your individual aide. I'm guessing you'd like a rest before you start?"

"I would, yes. Could you send up all relevant papers to my room please?"

"Already done," Miss Pauling said. "Room 236, Marcus."

"Follow me, please," Marcus said, with a small bow. Théo nodded slightly in return. It was obvious his clone was used to meeting his exact doubles, but Théo found the whole situation rather disorientating. After all, he had met his clones many times, but only to kill them. He swallowed hard. He needed another cigarette.

"Lead on."

The Institute bustled with activity. Around the retired Spy, doors opened and slammed, cutting off snippets of conversations and arguments. He passed various clones in the corridors. It gave him a horrible sense of deja vu, since it seemed like he was meeting the same person pulling the same surprised expression over and over again...

"Srrrr!" There was the squeal of rubber boots on lino, and two warm arms grasped him in a tight hug. "Whhrrr hrrr urrr hrrrg hrrr?"

"Ah...Pyro. Good to see you too," Théo replied, trying to squirm free of the firebug's vice-like grip. He gave the masked man a weak smile. "I have come to visit, to help clear up the...issue with Medic Erwin."

"Hrr crrrn hrrd hrrt," Pyro said firmly, letting go of Théo and examining him at arm's length with his head cocked on one side. "Hrr hr urrkhinhh hrrrl."

"Kind of you to say so. I will do my best."

"We're in a rush, Tianlong," Miss Pauling said. "I'm sure Théo will come along for a chat later if you wish."

"Urrr hrr!"

"Surely it matters little which of my copies you talk to?" Théo said with a slight smile. Pyro Tianlong just made a derisive snorting noise and shook his head.

"Hrr hrrrlll hrriffrrreenhht," He said, holding up a gloved finger for emphasis.

"If you say so. I'm sure Engineer and Medic would disagree."

Pyro just snorted and shook his head again with a muffled laugh. He gave Théo another short hug, and then waved and walked off. Théo tried not to shudder. He tried to be pleasant to the poor soul trapped in the rubber suit, but talking to someone whose emotions he had no way of reading was... disconcerting. Pyro had always been fond of him, and back in the Violet team, he had often lurked on the edge of conversations, just listening and apparently glad to have his company without expecting anything in return.

He had had no idea who the man inside the suit was until that awful day he and all the rebels had woken up, disorientated, sick and groggy after two years trapped as the Violet Medic's experiments and he had seen Pyro's face for the first time.

It was a face he had seen a long time previously, but it just added to the puzzle that was Pyro. Why was Dr Adam Sheung Chinbao and his copies so fond of Théo, the man who had once betrayed him? Surely he should have been holding an impressive grudge against...

"Here we are," Miss Pauling interrupted his thoughts and handed him a key. "Erwin's journals are in there with what reports I could scrape together. If you're hungry, the mess hall is on the floor above, but I better warn you it tends to be, eh...silly. You know what I mean."

"I do indeed," Théo replied with an eyeroll. "I remember what it was like with just one Scout; what it would be like with, what? Thirteen?" He shuddered.

"Exactly the way you'd think it'd be," Miss Pauling said with a laugh. She glanced at her watch. "Damn. I better get back to work. I've got some documents that need burning... anyway, I'll send Clara along in, let's say, two hours. That'll give you some time to get orientated, right?"

"Yes, thank you." Théo walked into the large suite of rooms and prowled around. It looked like any large hotel room- clean, comfortable, and dull. He thought back to his penthouse flat in Boston, with its polished floors, Persian rugs, wide-open views, but most of all, he thought of Rachel, the way she smiled, the scent of her hair...

What am I doing here? Why did I accept this stupid job?

He sighed explosively and sat down at the table. There was a pile of documents there and he spotted Erwin's leather-bound journal. He dragged it towards him tiredly and opened it at random.

July 25th, 1972

It still hurts. It's psychosomatic. I know that. Davi's techniques were not those of a well-trained interrogator, and the medigun has healed any lasting harm. Normally I would find this fascinating, but right now I seem to be lacking in patience. It still hurts.

It is simply ridiculous. It was only pain, and I resisted it. However, I look down at my nails and I can see the cell, sense the clammy heat, even smell it. Such nonsense!

Memo: Is it worth removing the medigun limiter to allow it to heal actively dividing cells? Side effects would include excessive hair growth and skin peeling. Something to investigate.

I need a distraction. I need to work. If I don't have something to do, I will go out of my mind.

Théo frowned and turned the page.

Sniper Lawrence brought his boat to a halt and stretched, his neck creaking and cracking. These days, he got stiff if he was still for too long, and his neck was completely buggered from years of sitting still for very long stretches of time. He reached back and massaged a lump out of the muscle, cringing as a krsssht noise emanated from deep inside his shoulder. Could see Medic about that, I suppose, but he'd probably just want to give me gibbon arms or something. He snorted and smiled to himself at a thought. I guess he could chop my head off and stick it in a box. My neck wouldn't hurt then...

He walked to the back of the boat and started to ready his gear for today's dives. He connected his demand valve to the cylinder, checked it for leaks and then took a breath of the air. A sickly, oily stench taste filled his mouth and he coughed, spitting the mouthpiece out in disgust.

"Bugger it!" Lawrence sat back and folded his arms in disappointment. Bad air! Just what he needed now. Obviously, his compressor was knackered and taking in exhaust. He'd need to get it repaired before he dived again. It was a hazard in scuba diving, which is why he always checked the air quality before a dive, but it was definitely annoying. Still, he guessed that a screaming headache and chundering underwater would be worse. He looked back at the Institute. Should he give up for the day? He thought of heading back to his cramped room and those corridors full of people.

Nah. Too nice today to be inside.

Either way, his plans for the day were ruined. So, what could he do instead? He breathed out through his nose with a hiss and tapped his long, callused fingers on the steering wheel. Perhaps he could catch something tasty for lunch? That'd be a start. He reached down for his harpoon gun and his fingers closed around the trigger. Yep, a bit of snorkelling, and see what he could skewer for lunch. It was a fine plan. A thought struck him.

If you catch a lobster, perhaps you could find out what that shadowy thing is. The one that stole your lunch the other day.

His mouth twitched into a slow smile. Now that was a good idea! Fish numbers remained low and he'd had times since that day when the fish around him had all darted away, leaving him suspended and alone in the water column. Something was out there, and he had no idea what. Even odder, sometimes he had felt that something was watching him, something intelligent. That was stupid, of course. It was impossible. Either way, he could easily find something edible while snorkelling. He would catch two meals and see if he could entice the apex predator, whatever it was, close enough that he could identify it.

He quickly assembled his snorkel gear, flipped his mask on, and then rolled backwards off the boat into the water. There was the roar of bubbles around him, and he could feel water surge through his wetsuit. It always felt cold at first- especially that moment when the sea water surged through his suit and reached his crotch- but he soon felt comfortable. The water was clear and there was no noise other than the sound of his own breathing in his ears. He held his breath and dived down simply for the joy of movement, soaring through the water until he reached the seabed. He grabbed hold of a sharp coral edge with his gloved hand for a moment to steady himself and look around for anything edible. He spotted movement in the corner of his eye, but he was running out of breath, so he darted back to the surface to blow the water out of his snorkel and get his breath back.

In some ways, he preferred snorkelling to scuba diving. He was tied to the surface, but the equipment was far less constricting and cumbersome. Before the robot wars, he had dreamt frequently of flying. Now, he dreamt of swimming freely through crystal waters instead. He took another breath and dived down again. The movement he had seen was, surely enough, a nice fat king crab. He grabbed its carapace and it waved its claws at him threateningly as he hauled it back to the surface.

Without spitting out his mouthpiece, he lugged himself clumsily over the side of the boat and deposited the crab into a waiting bucket of seawater. It was too warm for the crab, really, but it'd keep it alive until cooking time anyway. He let go of the boat and fell back into the water with a splosh. Bubbles chased around his vision for a second, bright as diamonds in the clear, sunlit water.

He paused for a moment, considering where to dive down to next when he felt his neck prickle. He was being watched again.

Well, good. Here fishy fishy, got some dinner for you...

So, now he better find something else to eat. He could see a likely hole in the reef down there, and there was always something edible in holes like that.

A nearby shoal of fish suddenly darted away, disappearing into the distance. Lawrence looked around just as a parrot fish shot back into a coral crevice. The usual clicking of busy fish living their lives fell silent.

Yep, you're here aren't you? So, look at me, I've not seen you, I'm just a dumb diver. Dumb, stupid diver. Come closer, fishy, come and see...

He aimed at that dark hole in the reef and dived down. What he did next he was willing to admit, afterwards, was very, very stupid. He decided it must have been the excitement of the moment and his determination to find out what the predator was.

He put his hand into the hole and a sharp pain lanced through his fingers and palm. He was too experienced to shout and lose his snorkel, but his arm yanked reflexively, doubling the pain. He felt his flesh tear as something sharp ripped through it. Blood bloomed into the water, bubbles escaping from his mouth, as he struggled in sudden shocked pain. Something had grabbed his hand in sharp teeth and was now trying to tear a chunk out of his skin. Worse than that, he was stuck and running out of breath. He yanked his arm again, causing another bloom of blood, but it was stuck fast. His lungs were screaming at him to get back to the surface right now and his arm was starting to burn and tingle.

Suddenly, the sun went out. At least, it seemed that way to the rapidly dying Sniper. The water turned black and limbs, so many limbs, too many limbs, grabbed him and held him so tightly he couldn't struggle any more. Spots gathered in his vision and he stopped struggling as his body went heavy and weak.

Why would it eat lobster, he thought with a despairing irritation as the limbs tightened firmly around him, When it could eat me?

In Chapter Twenty-Six: Guess who rescues Lawrence?