Hey everyone! Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and alerts, I really appreciate it. Sorry for the long wait. Here's a short chapter following the Expiration Date short (please watch it to fully understand). I felt that a couple of the mercenaries were left out of the short, so I decided to tell it from their POV. Enjoy!
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"Woooooo!"
Sniper glanced up from the newspaper he was reading. Sounded like an overexcited Demoman, which usually meant alcohol was involved.
"Hey, Pyro. I think Cyclops's back with the beer," the sharpshooter gestured to the hall, which led stairs down to the garage where Engineer had set up Hydro's teleports. It had been a few days since the team left Coldfront (thank all that was high and mighty), only to be stationed at Hydro for more battles over seemingly useless map points. Regardless, it wasn't snowing, and there were no signs of wolves or crazy women, a marginal step up from the previous base.
Pyro clapped his hands together, tossing his comic book aside and hopping up to join Sniper as they exited the common room. Technically, it was a ceasefire day, but in an unusual manner, the team had been given a briefcase retrieval mission. Needless to say, they drew straws for which three unfortunate souls would be involved (simply due to the fact that only three people could fit in the cover van).
Fortunately, Scout was one of them, and Sniper had been enjoying an annoyance-free day lounging on the couch, reading, and occasionally sharing conversation with Pyro, who likewise took up a spot in another worn-out couch for comic book time.
"What's up, mates?" Sniper asked, noting the silence and heavy air when as he descended the stairs into the garage. The rest of the team, including the briefcase trio, were there. Demoman was perched on an exit teleporter, beer in arms, and wearing a hat he no doubt just had to buy.
"I dinnae, I just got here," commented the resident alcoholic, stepping off the teleporter and setting the beer crate on the table, whistling as if everything was fine and dandy.
"We are going to die in three days," remarked Spy from his spot against the stairs' railing. Expectedly, he had a cigarette between his lips and did not look at all perturbed.
"Mmht?" Pyro tilted his head in confusion, glancing at Medic who gravely nodded his head.
"Due to certain teleporter issues, ve all have zhree days before ve die," the doctor lamented to the uninformed Sniper, Demo, and Pyro, in a voice that sounded way too dramatic. Demo continued whistling, tossing a beer to Scout who looked lost in thought, and Soldier who still seemed to be trying to process how long three days was.
"Big deal. We die all the time," the Scotsman commented, taking a swig of beer and adjusting his wide-brim hat with his free hand.
"I'm afraid this might be more permanent, fellas," filled in Engineer, glancing at a oddly green piece of bread sitting on the desk. "You might wanna plan out your final hours. I'll get working on some watches so we'll all know exactly how much time we have left before...ya know."
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"Heeey!" Scout poked his head into the rec room, where Demo, Sniper, and Pyro were involved in a game of pool. Ever since the unannounced death announcement, everyone had relapsed into normal activities, mostly due to the fact that "we die all the time" and that "this can't possibly be the way we die for real". Due to some toxic teleporter malfunction? Yeah, right.
"How ye doin' lad!" called over Demo, drunk, and somehow managing to still lead in billiards. Oddly enough, despite his lack of depth perception, the cyclops was relatively good at knocking in multiple balls with one tap. Scout swaggered over, grinning oddly as he watched Sniper take a shot, hitting the red seven with the black ball, which spiraled close to one of the corners before slowing down, barely on the edge. The Australian cursed under his breath, pushing up his aviators with his thumb.
"You guys seem to be havin' fun," commented Scout, earning a thumbs up from Pyro, who lifted his cue. The mercenary held it up, wrong side against the table, which Sniper helped correct.
"Wot do you want?" asked Sniper bluntly, directing Pyro to the black ball he needed to hit. It was obvious the mumbler had no experience in the game.
"Well," started Scout, sitting on the edge of the table, "I got your death watches here from Engie." The Bostonian pulled three clunkly wristbands from his pocket, handing one to the drunk Demo, and tossing the other two to Sniper.
"Truckie really thinks we're gonna die, huh?" mused Sniper, securing the watch to his wrist.
"Which wrist do I have to put it on to work?" asked Demoman, squinting as he held up the gray device, as if it was foreign liquor that he had just learned about, and was definitely going to try, but needed a moment to prepare for.
"Hudda hudda huh!" Pyro clapped as two colored balls were knocked into opposite corners. He happily took his watch from the surprised Sniper and attached it to his wrist.
"Woah, mate, that was really good!"
"Mmpnk mpho," Pyro said, more attention on his new watch holding it up to examine the default zeros on the screen.
"Aaaaand," interrupted Scout, wearing his patented shit-eating grin. "Spy asked for me to collect ya last wishes."
"And he's gointa' get 'em for us?" questioned Demo with a snort, still examining the watch. "Because I'd like me other eye. Ye know, so I can look pretty for the funeral and all."
"Well, I don't know about that. But you're not gonna put any wishes in, I am." The youngest mercenary held up a bunch of folded papers with every mercenary's name on them. "It's gonna be hilarious, just don't tell Spy, okay? He's gonna be in here in like 15 minutes with a bucket for all the wishes, ya know, to pull some sentimental crap."
With that, Scout started to snicker to himself, jumping off the table and heading for the door.
"That'll teach that bastard for messin' with me and my ma'..."
Sniper just raised an eyebrow, watching the younger man leave.
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"Did anyone besides Scout put a card into the bucket?" Spy exclaimed, shooting a look at the surrounding mercenaries as Scout chuckled to himself. Heavy sent Scout a confused look, unsure of what was so funny about what Spy was reading (most of which Heavy did not really understand - what was coitus?). Sniper and Pyro glanced at one another, the latter holding back a giggle at the absurdity of Scout's prank, and the former wondering where Scout learned to draw so well. Beside them, Soldier stared at the metal bucket, unblinking as if it were a holy shovel.
"Classic Scout," the runner announced, shaking his head at his obviously hilarious shenanigans. Demoman shot him a look, more drunk that 15 minutes ago, and perhaps wondering what happened to his card he didn't remember putting into the bucket.
"Fantastic. This was a huge waste of my time," the Frenchman sighed. It was the first time he ever tried leaving a team without stabbing them all in the back, and it was obvious sentimentality was just not worth it.
"You did not read my card," called out Soldier suddenly, holding up a card with his name written on it. Spy let out an exasperated sigh. He should have just stabbed them all in the back, if only for habit's sake.
"Does it say you want the bucket?"
"Yes!"
The Frenchman just rolled his eyes as he slid the metal bucket over to the grinning patriot. Taking this as a sign that the tender team moment was over, the group disbanded, leaving Spy at the table to light a cigarette.
"See you all in hell."
:::
Pyro sighed, holding up the photo of when the team had been on the rollercoaster in Dustbowl months ago. The mercenary was cuddled in the blankets of a shaded room, mask and gloves set upon a nightstand. In scarred hands, a pencil doodled the photo on lined paper. It wasn't the best drawing, being that everyone was made up of shapes and sticks, but nonetheless, the pyromaniac seemed to be taking time to carefully replicate the team. Like most of the mercenaries, Pyro thought imminent death wasn't so imminent, but Spy's attempt at a warm and fuzzy moment spoke to the scarred individual in the asbestos suit.
Suddenly, a knock at the door alerted Pyro to a guest.
"Hmm?" Pyro called out, putting on false mumbling for the benefit of whoever waited outside.
"Hey, me and some of the other blokes are gonna play cards. You in?" came an Australian accent.
"Don't be shy, lad. We know ye -hiccup- are probably some poker champion!" That was undoubtedly Demoman, still probably enjoying the beer he proferred earlier in the day. When Pyro exited the room, gasmask and gloves secured, he saw that Heavy was with the two as well, holding a sandwich in one hand, a beer with straw in the other.
"Was leetle Pyro busy?" the Russian questioned, offering the red-suited mercenary the beer. He shook his head, letting out a thanks and taking the beer as he followed an arguing Sniper and Demoman towards the rec room. On the way, the group passed Soldier, hugging the metal bucket close to himself as he stood at the doorway of the kitchen, peering in.
"What are ye up to, huh?" surprised Demo, jumping up behind Soldier and earning a yell. The American whipped around, and waved a fist at the Scotsman.
"None of your business, maggot! I have less than three days on this great American soil and I need to make the best of it!" Soldier defended, an unseen glare directed at the four other mercenaries.
"...with a bucket." Sniper raised an eyebrow and just shrugged. "Do you wanna play some cards?"
"Go away," waved Soldier, once again peering into the kitchen, as if spying on someone. He yelped as Demoman slapped him on the shoulder and laughed away.
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Pyro sipped on the cold beer from the straw set in the side of his mask as Sniper doled out the cards for the impromptou poker game.
"I'm guessin' ya all know how to play?" questioned the Australian, taking his seat after all the cards were dealt. Heavy nodded, taking a bite of his sandwich as he examined his cards with his other hand.
"Mmphea."
"I'm a poker mastermind," snapped Demo, holding his cards close to his chest and shooting Sniper the stinkeye.
"Ye better say bye to that hat, 'cause I've been eyin' it since we first met!"
"Not gonna happen, mate."
As the game began, Pyro continued to sip on his beer, musing about earlier that day. He glanced at his watch - 65 hours. It seemed like such a long time.
"Mmphy mpys?" Pyro started, slowly lowering his cards as he glanced at the others around the table.
"Yeah, mate?"
"Mmht mphd mhee mphur mphst mphshs?"
Sniper looked over from his cards, furrowing his eyebrows. "Like if we were actually gonna die in three days?"
"Skydiving!" interrupted Demoman, grinning ear to ear. "That'd be me last wish. Always wanted to do something like that...think Spy can set that up for me?"The Scotsman quieted down, grin slowly fading as he took a swig of his drink, no doubt now considering what he really wanted in his final moments. Pyro nudged Heavy who seemed entranced by his cards, near-finished sandwich on the table next to his arm.
"Mmphu?"
"Heavy does not want much," the Russian admitted. "To be home with family and vodka. And sandviches." At that, the bald man smiled a bit - the trio at the table withheld any burning questions, knowing Heavy never talked about his family. No one even knew if he was married or had children (well, minus Medic and Spy who probably had an entire family history), and so any bit of information, no matter how small, seemed to be worthwhile.
"I hear ya," mumbled Sniper, leaning back in his seat, cards folded against the table. "Hunting again would be mine. Like, hunting animals - the big kinda stuff ya can only find in the outback. I'd kill to be that young again...wot about you, Pyro?" Demoman and Heavy perked up at this question, leaning forward to get any insight into the mind of the resident pyromaniac. Pyro glanced down at his lap, thinking for a moment, before straightening up.
"Mmpo mphsty mphr mmit mphu mphuys," he said, smiling under the mask. Sniper snorted, crossing his arms.
"I wouldn't wish that on my worse enemy. No offense, mate," the Australian commented. From next to him, Demoman sniffed, eyes watering.
"That's bloody sweet, lad. I want ta change me wish to that!"
"It is last wishes. More than one is okay?"
"Bring it in for a group hug, lads!" Demoman cried, ignoring Heavy's comment as he reached over the table to pull the others into an uncomfortable hug. Only Pyro made an effort to join in, and Heavy reluctantly allowed Demo to wrap an arm around his shoulder. Sniper cringed, leaning farther back and away from the table.
"I'm okay right here, thanks," the bushman commented, awkwardly reaching over to pat the drunk Scotsman on the shoulder as he started to recall all the "good times".
:::
Sniper planned to sleep his death away. After dealing with Spy and Scout's strange dating simulation, he was more than ready to retire. He wasn't even sure where Spy found the saxophone, an instrument Sniper hadn't touched since high school. By some miracle he still remembered how to play, yet that might have been due to his mother's insistence that he grew up with some "culture" - how Spy learned about this hidden talent was much more of a mystery.
An hour before the death watch was set to go off, Sniper started to head to room at Hydro to collect his personal effects. He was going to die in peace and quiet, all his belongings returned to his camper, rifle and kukri by his side. That is, until he heard an alarm go off. The emergency lights started to flash, bathing the hall in red, and an annoying wailing filled the base. Sniper groaned, wondering if BLU was really going to pull some sort of shenanigan this close to what is supposed to be a sober moment. Nope, thought Sniper - I'm not doing this, I am too old for this. The Australian continued on down the hall, ignoring the alarm as he entered his seldom-occupied room. Just as he expected, the alarm stopped, and Sniper let out a breath - peace, and quiet. As he gathered clothing and books, there was a crash and it sounded like the base sounded like Heavy's stomach before dinner. Sniper felt his blood pressure rising, and snatched his rifle and kukri from the corner of the room, sheathing the latter at his waist.
Marching out of the room, the Australian looked about ready to smack someone with the gun, and demand that the racket stop so he could die in peace. Around the corner, Heavy came running as fast as his short legs could carry him, minigun ready in hand.
"What is going on?" asked the Russian, wide-eyed as he slowed down and stopped next to Sniper. "Dying time?" Sniper glanced at his death watch and scowled.
"Thirty minutes."
"Heavy!" Medic came hurrying down the hall, suited up with his white coat and gloves, medigun strapped on. Behind him followed the rest of the mercenaries, minus Scout, all in uniform with their weapons. "Ve need to get to zhe basement!"
The doctor led the way, red medigun beam now trained on Heavy who followed along, no questions asked. Sniper groaned, turning to follow Engineer who had his shotgun and toolbox in hand.
"Wot's goin' on now?" the bushman asked. Engineer looked mighty upset as he shook his head.
"We're not gonna die. Well, not from tumors. But Solly here seems to have unleashed a toxic bread monster."
"You told me I could teleport as much bread as I wanted!" defended Soldier, shovel in hand as he trailed after the two.
"I'm inclined to agree that not all fault is with the idiot," commented Spy dryly from his usual spot at the back of the group. Sniper just rolled his eyes.
:::
"Well, crikey," mumbled Sniper as the group entered the destroyed basement. An enormous bread-tumor-creature was rampaging, wheat tentacles slapping at a dodging Scout, who took swings at it with a metal pipe.
"Now Doktor!" Heavy called, taking the initiative as Medic activated an ubercharge on him. The team moved into action, Engineer falling back to build a sentry while the rest took offense. Sniper hurried to get closer to the raging grain product, next to a giant RED bomb, when he noticed a purple-dressed woman standing in shock.
"Miss Pauling?" the Australian blinked. "Wot are you doing here?"
"No time to explain," breathed out the dark-haired woman, leaning back into the bomb.
"You might wanna step back," was all Sniper said before taking aim with his scope. Without a real head to take out, the sharpshooter took to bodyshots, noting they didn't seem to be bothering the monster much.
"Agh!" Scout let out a yelp as one of the yeast filled tentacles yanked him into the air. Sniper targeted the arm and shot, freeing Scout as the flesh exploded into rye and wheat. He aimed for another tentacle that seemed to be harassing Pyro who was burning through his ammo, when he heard yelling heading for him.
"I teleported breeeaaad!"Sniper leaped to the side, barely being hit by Soldier who crashed into a pile of destroyed limber.
"Yeah, I can see that!" snapped Sniper, pushing Soldier away as he struggled out of the limber pile. Just as he stepped free, the monster's grainy, tumor-filled tentacle grabbed his rifle, pulling the Australian with it. Sniper was pulled and swung onto the ground as he let go of the gun. He scowled, instinctively, reaching for his kukri at his side. The mercenary rolled off the ground, ready to relive his younger days of wrestling wildlife to death. Just as he was about to let out an Australian battle cry and jump into the fray, the RED bomb started to wheel past him, pushed by Scout and Miss Pauling along tracks.
"Mmpee mphtta mpho!" Pyro popped up behind Sniper, covered in soot, yet otherwise looking unhurt with his flamethrower shouldered.
"But my rifle!" Sniper called, glancing at the yeasty brute who snatched the RED bomb into the air, letting out a ferocious roar. Pyro and Sniper cringed away, covering their face with their arms to avoid the spit made up of moist, grainy crumbs.
"Come on!" The two snapped around to see Heavy holding the blast doors open, Medic and Engineer ducking out of the destroyed basement.
"Agh!" Sniper yelped as Pyro swung an arm out to loop with his, dragging him toward the blast doors. The pyromaniac shoved the Australian through the tight space that Heavy struggled to keep open, before following after tossing his flamethrower through.
Sniper stumbled out into the cool night, nearly tripping on the train tracks leading out of base.
"Managed not to die, I see." Sniper glanced at his side to see Spy smoking as he reloaded his gun, not even dust on his suit. The Australian just frowned, turning his attention to the blast doors. Archimedes flew out between the small opening just as Heavy jumped away, watching watching the doors slam and lock shut.
"Yeah, yeah. You're the one lookin' all pretty. Couldn't find a back to stab, huh?"
"Hey fellas, did either of ya'll see Miss Pauling or Scout?" Engineer interrupted, eyebrows furrowed as he glanced around the outside of the base where most of the team was assembled. Sniper nodded.
"Yeah. They were with that bread monster piker..."
"And they didn't get out," added in Spy dryly. Engineer looked ready to say something, but another explosion went off, worst than the previous ones, as if a small earthquake had hit the base. The mercenaries stepped back from the doors, hearing the sound of something hit the metal before it quieted down, the night once again only filled with the sounds of crickets.
"Mission accomplished!" called out Soldier, letting out a laugh as he ran over to the blast doors. He slammed his meaty fist into the release switch and the blast doors started to groan open. The rest of the mercenaries hesitantly followed the excited patriot into the battle zone, where the corpse of the bread-tumor-monster was lying, torn open, and smelling of mold.
"Ho-wah!" With that, Soldier jumped into the mixture of wheat, rye, and yeast, digging past the fleshy-textured bits.
"Well I'd say that went well," commented Spy, puffing out some smoke as he watched Soldier hurriedly dig through the grain.
"Right. And here I thought I was going to die today," grumbled Sniper, taking a seat on the corpse. Christ, he felt exhausted. For a brief moment, he wondered if he was really getting that old.
"Check it out boyos!" Demoman came ambling into the base, an entire crate of beer in his arms. "Drink to surviving!" Sniper shook his head, reaching in his back pocket for a whetstone. Bullshit. He was just as fit as when he first started his merc career, he thought sharpening the kukri.
"Good news! We're not dying. We are going to live forever!" He heard Soldier announce, and glanced over his shoulder to see Heavy lift off a piece of bready limb, revealing Miss Pauling and Scout.
"I didn't say zhat. I just said ve're not filled with tumors," Medic corrected with a frown before joining Heavy to grab a beer from the crate Demoman had carried in.
"Mmphys mplook!" Pyro laughed, chasing after a small tumor-speckled loaf of bread, almost like a dog. "Mmpn mmye mpeep mpt?"
"I don't think that's a good idea, pardner," Engineer said, uncapping a beer and taking a drink. Pyro looked over at him, and for those who took Spy's Pyro-interpretation class, it was painfully obvious he was sending Engineer his best puppy-dog pleading eyes.
"...well, I mean, if the Doc's okay with it," broke Engineer, looking away from the expressive gasmask.
"Ja, ja. And ve should probably do an extra physical zhis monzh. For safety reasons." This caused the group to groan, dreading any more time than necessary in Medic's infirmary.
"Yeah, Miss Pauling? I'd like a date on that day."
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There you have it! Probably not the best but I'm getting back into the flow of writing again. Hope you guys liked it. I'll try to update soon.