EARLIER
Before he bounded fists (and brick) first through the hospital doors, Heavy took a page out of Medic's Battle Manual and entered slowly, turning his hand so the brick was concealed by his massive wrist. He'd get as close as he could to the two uniformed officers standing guard in front of the receptionist desk so he could subdue them in quick succession.
"Stay where you are! Get your hands up!" Both officers were middle-aged and white, wearing black uniforms with shiny gold badges. Even at a distance of fifteen feet the smaller men had to tilt their heads to meet Heavy's eyes. Despite their applicability of firepower, Heavy could sense by their shifting stance, overly alert eyes and the bristling atmosphere that they were not killers.
"I said freeze!" the smaller of the two shouted, re-brandishing his gun as if he thought Heavy hadn't realized he was holding it. "I will shoot."
Heavy cracked a smile and drew a few steps closer, and the ambiance transformed into arctic fear as the men caught glimpse of their opponent's terrifying focus. The smaller, more nervous of the two men fired a warning shot into the floor, visibly startling his partner and the nurse behind the desk who screamed and ducked. Heavy didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. Unfortunately for the officers, their straight-laced protocol did not cover handling individuals so anesthetized to violence, and their training went forgotten as their instincts recognized that someone who didn't shy away from a bullet was immune to their only advantage, and in their seconds of frozen aftershock, Heavy took action.
With a pitch that even Scout couldn't scrutinize, Heavy wound his tree trunk arm and catapulted the two pound brick into the chest of the larger officer; he didn't have time to dodge properly, and the long side of the brick crashed into his collarbone with a sickening crack; he leveled with the ground and didn't get back up.
As the first body hit the floor Heavy lunged into smaller man and both went plummeting. Heavy heard a second gunshot as they fell, but the familiar thump and ache he associated with bullet wounds did not come. Heavy calmly wrapped his hand around the man's throat until he became still.
He leapt from the body, collected the guns, removed the clips and stowed them into his pocket. He set one finger over his lips at the nurse who was cowering and had begun to silently cry. Pyro hadn't ever cried, and Heavy felt a sudden surge of respect toward his only female comrade.
Fingers lose and breath steady, Heavy tried to be as discreet as possible as he crept to the set of double doors into the outpatient wing. When he heard the entrance swish open and closed behind him, he turned halfway around to discover Sniper was following. They exchanged the briefest of head gestures and Heavy continued down the hall, careful to ease each step so to lessen the inexorable click-clacking of his dress shoes.
A quick peak around the corner splitting to his right revealed the backs of two officers halfway through the doorsill to the room where Pyro had been kept. He could see their shoulders were raised; they were pointing their guns into the room. Heavy crept forward. He could make out the hoarse voice of Demoman and the stiff commands of the officers.
"You sons-a-bitches ain't got the balls ta do me in! Go on, ya yellow bastards! Aim that gun at me head and shoot me!" Demo was tipping the boundaries of sanity, slipping into the fathomless depths of craze.
Sniper was close enough now that he was able to hear the argument and he squinted with confusion. Why was Demo asking to be shot? Unless this was his idea of intimidation tactics (questionable ones, at that), Sniper suspected that Demo wanted to die.
The officers commanded that he let go of the hostage, and Demoman lividly refused. Someone yelped and Sniper heard a collection of gasps. A shot went off, and then a howl erupted from Demo blended with the crash of shattering glass.
Using the chaos as a distraction, Heavy positioned himself behind the two uniformed men in the doorway, his grin stretched broad as he crouched and set his sights on the oblivious men. Sniper's eyes became wide and he shook his head, mouthing a hodgepodge of "no," "stop" and "don't," but it was all for naught.
Heavy slammed his right fist into the shoulder of the rightmost officer, who crumpled like a sack of bricks. He took hold of the adjacent officer's throat and thumped his skull into the door frame, and he joined his partner on the floor.
Heavy was in the room before Sniper had a chance to breathe, and two more gun shots echoed throughout the cavernous corridor. Sniper heard something metal clatter to the floor as he duck walked along the wall to peek inside.
There were three officers triangulated around Demoman, a very pale middle-aged man in a blue suit, and Heavy. A thick stream of rich blood gushed through the silk fabric under Heavy's left shoulder, and although the flow was substantial enough to soak the majority of his sleeve in under a minute, his left hand maintained a firm grip on the wrist of one officer.
The Russian squeezed and the gun clattered to the floor. With his right hand he took hold of the shooter's neck, and in one flowing motion he lifted him off his feet and sent him soaring back first through a rolling table of medical instruments.
One of the two officers left wielded his nightstick like a sword and only barely managed to deflect one of Heavy's would-be thunderous blows, something that he wouldn't have been able to do if Heavy hadn't been shot. As he retracted the night stick after escaping the wounded swing, Heavy's undaunted right hook slugged him in the face and his limp body revolved once before collapsing.
Another gun fired and the only two who weren't fazed by this, who didn't instinctively flinch or cower were Heavy and Demoman. A sprinkling of sheet rock puffed from the ceiling, and Demoman shoved away his hostage freeing him to pounce. The officer's gun hand fell between the two. Demo's immobilized foe fingered the trigger, and to his dismay all the revolver did was click-click-click. Demo slammed his forehead into his opponent's temple, and the struggle was over. His face twisted like a Cheshire cat as he lifted himself off the body and looked around. "Nice a'ya ta drop by," he was dripping with sarcasm just as steadily as Heavy's fingers were dribbling blood onto the floor.
Heavy pressed two fingers into the bleeding hole in his shoulder, "Couldn't leave without you." Demoman snarled and waved his hand dismissively, then set his sights on Sniper, "You were a big help, as always."
Sniper rose from his crouching position halfway behind the doorframe, "Didn't wanna cramp your style," he brushed off his silk suit, surprised that throughout the past twenty four hours he hadn't gotten a single scratch or tear. He was less than enthralled at Demo's bitter attitude but didn't think it would be wise to attract even more attention to their group with a civil argument.
Medic appeared at the door behind Sniper with a bundle of hypodermic needles wrapped in plastic, a bag full of clear liquid, a spool of transparent tubing and little white boxes that piled up to his chin. He nonchalantly walked into the room as if he were interrupting a tea party, stepped over two bleeding bodies and dumped his stolen supplies onto the bed, then removed the covering of the only pillow within his reach and unsystematically crammed his things inside.
"What're we gonna do 'bout all this?" Sniper waved his hand around the as if the corpses, blood, bullet holes and overturned medical equipment were just slightly untidy annoyances.
Despite that Mr. Leatherman had fainted in the opposite corner, the five policemen were all out cold (if not dead) and no hospital staff in their right mind had even come close to the outpatient wing since the gunshots warned them not to, Heavy gestured for Demoman, Sniper and Medic to join him in a more private area of the room. When they were in a close circle, Heavy reiterated Sniper's concern, "What we do about men?"
Medic gave the bodies on the floor a quick once-over with a bland expression. He pursed his lips and squinted, then said, "Zhey cannot be allowed to tell anyone of us."
Heavy wholeheartedly agreed, "Ms. Blu would not like it."
"Should we get all the files they made on Pyro?" Sniper suggested.
"Not enough time. Vouldn't know vhere to start lookingk, and if ve did ve could not be sure ve got all of zhem," said Medic.
"We c'n just kill em all," Demo growled, "Dead men don't talk."
Medic crooked his eyebrow, "And live men can still read. Killing everyone doesn't mean somevone von't be able to vind und read zhe viles." Demoman reluctantly shrugged.
"If we find the docs that worked on 'er they can show us where they keep all the files, n' then we can destroy em," Sniper proposed.
"Yeah, n' then we kill all'em afterward," Demo shot out, determined to revitalize his suggestion.
Medic waved idly, "Ve don't have time to be parading around asking qvuestions—"
"The longer we wait, the better chance them docs have ta run!" barked Sniper, annoyed that Medic had shot down everyone else's ideas and not offered any solutions himself.
"You zhink zhey aren't gone already?" Medic argued.
Sniper leaned in toward Medic, "Which is why if we find the other docs, get their addresses and track 'em down—"
"Oh yes, zhat vill take no time at all! First ve have to vind zhem," Medic roughly counted on his fingers, "Interrogate zhem, vind ze viles in zhe hospital, track down zhe other doctors at their homes, then vind out vhat zhey know—"
"Tha's a shit ton a' rubbish, you're makin' it out ta be more complicated than it is," Sniper swayed.
"I'm making it more complicated? I'm not zhe one suggesting ve vaste our time prancing about having chats vith everyvone who might or might not have zeen Pyro und lookingk for papers zhat might or might not exist!"
"It won't be a waste if we start now," Sniper thrust his index finger into his open palm.
Medic folded his arms. "Ve're not going to squander our time vith your dummheit ideas."
"I got one word for ya," the Australian poked Medic in the chest, "Obtuse."
Medic snatched Sniper's wrist and twisted it backwards, forcing him into an awkward restraint. Sniper lowered himself and used his free arm to make a quick jab at Medic's stomach which he had to strafe to avoid, giving Sniper enough leeway to spin around and aim a throw at Medic's face. The Doctor's jaw made a crunching sound and he retaliated by crooking Sniper's middle finger a full ninety degrees in the wrong direction.
Before it became an all out brawl, Demoman shoved himself in-between Medic and Sniper to separate them and wailed at the top of his lungs, "Whay don'che just burn it all, goddamnit!"
Whether it was because he was determined to do his due diligence in detaining their escapades, or if he had Pyro on the mind wasn't clear, but Demoman's suggestion was right on the money; at least to Heavy and Medic.
There was a stiff pause. Burning the hospital wouldn't solve all of their problems, but a great many. Sniper was shaking his head, rearranging his dislocated finger and tasking himself to think of a more reasonable solution when Medic nodded and said agreeably, "Zhat is a good idea."
Sniper's eyes flared, "It's a good idea to burn down a hospital?" he recoiled, looking at Medic and Demoman like he'd never seen them before. "Doc you're—You can't be serious! You're a –" Sniper paused to try to think of a more fitting description, finding none that weren't blasphemous, "--a doctor!"
Medic's firm glare begged Sniper to make his point. They were staring daggers at each other when Heavy volunteered himself for the job, "I will get burn material."
"Good," said Medic, his eyes continuing to bore into Sniper.
"No, not good!" Sniper spat and held an arm in front of Heavy to prevent him from starting his search for combustibles, "We aren't burning a buncha civilians!"
"We aren't?" Medic whispered dangerously. Sniper looked from Medic, to Heavy and then to Demo, all of whom were redolent of impatience. They were starving, exhausted, fed-up with Beatty city and annoyed with Sniper for delaying their getaway.
"You're bonkers," Sniper wiped down his face, the thirty six sleepless, food devoid hours taking their toll on his features in the form of dark shadows and deep lines. Heavy set his good arm onto Sniper's shoulder and looked at him sternly, and in a voice matching his unreadable visage, gave Sniper the most practical advice that he'd heard in a long while, "Detach yourself."
Heavy pulled his arm away, leaving a slight streak of blood down his shoulder. So much for the pristine suit, he sighed inwardly. Medic gave Heavy an approving half-smile and instructed him to find combustible materials and ignite them throughout the building, starting at the back end. Heavy nodded tersely and assured Medic that he'd only leave once the structure was indisputably ablaze.
Sniper wanted nothing better than to twist Medic's neck around one hundred and eighty degrees. Not only was he suggesting something ludicrously evil, but he was making Heavy do it for him. Sniper's mouth bent with revulsion; he found himself on the side of Soldier, who'd once asserted that their team doctor was a "soulless bastard son of Nazi scum." Sniper tucked the title away in case the chance to use it ever arose, which looked likely, considering how good of a start Medic was off to.
Demo moved away from the pack before Medic assigned him some new grim detail. He announced in a series of partial sentences that there was something he had to find before they left, and began rummaging through the bedside storage units. He tore a filing cabinet off of the wall and yelled when it landed on his foot, kicking a nearby bed in a tantrum. While Demo declared his hostility at inanimate objects, Heavy waddled to one side of the room and hastily collected bed sheets.
Sniper looked to the breathing bodies on the floor, to the unconscious civilian in the corner and over to Demo who had broken through a solid oak door using a portable IV stand on wheels. He ripped away the wood splinters, stuck his hand into the other side and unlocked the door, extending his search for whatever it was he was determined to find.
"Vhat the hell are you lookingk at? Get going!" Medic shouted. He ordered Sniper to get back to the train and tell Engineer to get it ready, and then he went back to the storage room for additional provisions.
Sniper thought about all of the civilians that would be trapped in the hospital when Heavy set it off. He thought about the irony of biting the hand that feeds you, or in this case, burning the people who rescued a member of your team so the hand that fed you didn't bite you as hard as they should. Heavy soon recruited Demoman to help him block all of the exits, and Sniper blanched at the thought of being trapped in fire. Innocent people didn't deserve that… Sniper left the hospital on swift feet so Demo, Heavy and Medic wouldn't get the chance to drag him along on their one-way ticket to Hell.
He didn't think to ask Medic about where he'd put Pyro while he scavenged the hospital, but only twenty percent of him really felt like going back to find out. Medic would scold him for wasting time when he could be giving Engineer a heads-up.
Sniper hastily climbed the ancient wooden platform and jogged toward the train. Heavy had pacified six civilian police, probably killing three as he did so, and the one Demo took down was most likely still alive. What did it matter to him if people – civilians – that meant nothing to him were reduced to piles of smoldering ash? Pyro had done it countless times, and she got paid to do it. Why was this any different? It wasn't as if he were free of sin either. He'd done his fair share of killings, probably more when he thought about it. Death was inevitable, alongside indigestion and taxes. He sighed; this calloused, practical thinking failed to shake the speculative discomfort in his bones.
"Shit," Sniper swore, and that pretty much summarized his feelings on the matter.
PRESENT
"What did he do?" Engineer grilled Sniper before he'd gotten the chance to sit down. Night had fallen and the darkness was thick, but that didn't prevent Engineer from peering out into it every thirty seconds.
"Took out six armed policemen with jus' his mitts n' a brick," Sniper conveyed. "Demo got the last one." He paused and took a deep breath, wondering how Engineer might react when he told him what Heavy, Demo and (indirectly) Medic planned on doing to the hospital. "Before I left, they were sayin'—"
"No frickin' way! Six?!" Scout appeared by Sniper's side just as swiftly as Spy could have, "I mean, nice job but I coulda taken' out nine! Not too bad for the lumberin' oaf though, right?"
Engineer rolled his eyes, "Pack your tongue in, boy. I wanna hear the rest'a this."
"Pack my tongue in?" Scout balked incredulously.
Engineer bit his lip and shook his head, "Yeah, as in shut the fuck up! I wanna know what happened to Pyro n' you being a jackass interruptin' ain't helpin' none! So pack—" Engineer furiously pointed to the back of the train, "your fuckin' tongue!"
It wasn't just Scout that was taken aback by the Southerner's impulsive outburst. Sniper's expression hadn't changed, his mouth was slightly ajar and his eyes swung back and forth from Scout to Engineer. Spy appeared to be amused as he repaired a snapped cigarette with his tongue and a strip of newspaper. Soldier hadn't joined them from the back of the train, and in the span of silence they heard the crinkling of crisp magazine pages and a low murmur of approval. Absolutely no one was curious about what he was doing.
"So to recap," Sniper looked at his team to make sure he wasn't interrupting some kind of silent conversation, "Heavy took down six, Demo got the last guy, n' they should be back in a bit," he turned around to face the darkness outside of their cage, "I thought Medic should be back by now."
"How'd she look?" Spy held the cigarette horizontally and rotated it above his tongue, sealing the saturated band of newspaper holding the two halves together.
"Dunno, she wadn't really talkin'," Sniper's mouth slanted thoughtfully. After an eternity of contemplative silence, Scout punched the back of his seat and leapt to stand, knocking Spy in the process who just about dropped his carefully mended cigarette. "I'm goin' in," Scout stated, and he hurdled over the empty train seats to the sliding door.
"Ah c'mon, Scout, don't do somethin' stupid," Sniper was tired and his voice showed it.
"They're out there killin' a pigs n' you're tellin' me not to do nothin' stupid? Go fuck yourself; I'm findin' 'em." Scout was about to fly out the door when Sniper stood and called out, "They're burnin' down the hospital, there ain't gonna be nothin' left for you to go lookin' in."
Scout caught his knuckles on the doorframe and heaved himself back inside, "What?!"
"They're burnin' it," Sniper repeated, unable to erase the agony and disgust pulling his lips upward and brow tight, "To cover our tracks."
"And everyone inside?" Engineer asked. Sniper nodded as he slunk back into his seat.
"It was Demo's idea, he n' Heavy are doin' the deed as we speak," Sniper said calmly. He hoped he didn't sound like he was throwing his associates to the dogs. "Can't imagine they'll be much longer."
All was quiet in the short time between Sniper's explanations and when the sound of hollow footsteps from the platform announced their affiliate's arrival. Engineer stared uncertainly, his mind as open and empty as his mouth as Medic emerged into the dim glow of the train lights, a large white bundle in his arms. His expression was somber and he was drenched in sweat; his white silk shirt hung on his dense frame like breathless lead, and his circular glasses were opaque with mist.
"How's she doin?" Engineer was the first to ask. Spy looked on with interest, his face showed no concern but he was nimbly flipping a set of matches over and about his fingers while his other hand was clenched into a fist.
Medic shot Engineer a nonspecific glare, neither denying nor confirming that anything was wrong. Sniper made himself useful by gathering up the blanket that Pyro had used earlier, carefully rolled it into a pillow and handed it to Medic who was settling their injured colleague into her own row.
Scout ferociously gnawed his bottom lip, his hands vibrating restlessly against the seat as he loomed above Pyro. Heavy and Demo appeared at the sliding train door a minute or so after Medic, and Spy promptly attended to the lock when they'd captured his attention by banging on the glass.
The faint smell of smoke sailed in with Heavy as he gasped for air and fell into a seat, shaking the entire car. Demo gulped down air as well, though he was able to stumble over to check on Pyro first before he fell backwards into another row and panted. He tossed Medic's bulky pillowcase to the floor. "Get goin'," he managed to verbalize between breaths, even though Engineer had already taken command of the train.
In moments they were chugging away from the station, and as Beatty became distant the center of the city flickered with an orange glow; a halo of tiny white lights surrounded the brilliant blaze at its midpoint. Sniper watched with a hard heart as the golden spark was engulfed by inky shadows as the train throttled over the horizon.