It's a weird feeling, being nervous or, y'know, scared. Sometimes it makes your chest tight and blood run cold, others make you feel horribly hot and send your senses into overdrive. For some it makes them jump at every little thing and for others it freezes them into a trance. But it always started the same way, with the tension.
There was a time during a ceasefire when the teams had been staying at Thunder Mountain and Engie had said something that caught Scout's attention. It was right before a payload match, and the older American had been watching him pace around because, d*mnit, it was something he could do! And he had said something about how it's always so quiet before battles and how it made Scout just want to rip the bandaid off and start bashing heads in. That was when Overalls said it.
"Ah feel ya, Buddy. It ain't easy waitin' during the calm before the storm." And Scout had asked what the h*ll he meant by that and Engie explained.
"Ya see, there's a saying that makes reference to the strange quiet that falls right before a real nasty storm strikes. Ya know what I'm talkin' about, don't cha? The air will warm up, and all the noise nature makes seems to simmer down some just before the thunder rolls in. Almost leads ya into a false sense of security before all hell breaks loose. But there's always a tell-tale sign lettin' ya know that danger's comin', ya just don't know when exactly. It happens with storms, tsunamis, tornados, basically all of nature's temper tantrums.
"Thunderstorms will make the air full of static that makes your hair stand on end. Tsunamis will pull the tides back something fierce, like the sea itself just up and left. Tornados will steal away the wind and leave ya with nothing but quiet and stagnant air. It's all a warning of what's to come, like right now with our fightin' and matches. Course, that's more metaphorical than the physical changes to the atmosphere and weather like the examples I gave. But ya can still feel it, that tension. The knowledge that something's aimin' to give ya a real beatin' but ya just don't know when."
At the time Scout brushed it aside, because he really wasn't in the mood to listen to Engie explain another one of his southern phrases. But the Bostonian didn't brush aside the man's wisdom now. And his phrase kept playing over and over in Scout's mind. The quiet before disaster struck. That horrible feeling that he was in deep s**t. That awful chill that chained itself to him when bad news was just around the corner. Like when he smashed the apartment's window while practicing his pitches and Ma was just about to come home after a long shift. Like when he was forced to wait outside the principal's office time and time again just for defending himself. Like when he watched from the corner with his brother Tommy as two policemen were talking to his Ma and makin' her cry about something called "Juvenile Court" and "Court orders". The tension. The waiting.
The Calm Before The Storm.
The roar of pounding rain did little to calm Scout's nerves as he sat there, watching through the downpour at the cabin. Night had fallen before he arrived, which, of course, only made things worse. It was dark and the rain made things even harder to see.
But it was still protecting him. And there was no guarantee that it would still be raining in the morning. He killed the engine and headlights, leaving him to be swallowed by the darkness. It was a two way street, if he couldn't see through the darkness, then neither could it. That fact didn't help much.
Taking a deep breath, Scout snuck a peek at the duffel bag on the passenger's seat. Moving his neck hurt. Everything hurt, honestly. Falling down two flights of stairs will do that to a person, bruising them so much they resemble a blueberry more than a man.
All of his supplies were in that bag or near it, everything he would need. He double checked, triple checked, before driving back here. It was all there. He just needed to man up and start.
And yet he made no move to leave the safety of the van.
C'mon, you can do this, ya did it yesterday you can do it now. Scout still didn't move, only staring at the large shadow that was the cabin. The moment he would step out would be the moment of no return. Maybe literally. The thought made his stomach churn.
The patter of rain filled the heavy atmosphere.
Chewing on his lip, Scout again turned to the duffel bag. He had prepared. He had gathered and even bought the things he would need from a store in the closest town about thirty miles away. He just. Needed. To move.
His hand twitched towards the bag. What if he was too late? He brought his hand back. What if the thing left and was looking somewhere else for him? He reached towards the bag. What if, what if, what if…
What ifs. They were flooding his head, spinning and darting around like dragonflies. When he brushed one aside, another took its place. Then another, and another. Over and over and over the events and questions played out. Which led to Scout thinking. And reminiscing. And then that would chip away at his fear and replace it with resolve until more what ifs took its place and started the cycle again.
Scout drummed his fingers against the wheel, biting his lip until it started hurting. He couldn't stay here forever, not moving or anything. Eventually, he'll have to get out and enter Landfall again. That, or he'll act like a little b***h for too long and the rain will stop and then he'll be caught and killed. Yeah, no, that wasn't going to happen. If he was going down, Scout would go down swinging.
But he wouldn't go down, because he was on a freaking mission! And nothing and nobody was taking him out till it was done! Because Scout had a plan, he was a planner. Scout was going to go in there, find Sniper, and get them out of there! Maybe even taking that freaking demon out for good! If it could even die…
Well, if it couldn't, Scout will make it wish it could.
The runner tore his hand from the steering wheel and snatched up the duffle bag and heaved it onto his shoulders. Ignoring his frantic pulse and instincts kicking down his brain's door screaming to drive off and save himself, the runner grabbed the door's handle and threw it open. He was ripping this bandaid off now.
Raindrops pelted him like bullets and shards of glass. It hurt, but it was a good kinda pain. The kind where you pull a nasty splinter out of your thumb. Or your nose burns just a bit after sneezing like a fog horn. Or the small thumping that came after pulling a baby tooth out along with a mouthful of blood.
With the freezing droplets coating him in water, Scout grabbed the other items he'd packed for the cause. A smaller handbag completely full and a crate of cheap alcohol. His hand shook as he tied the supplies to the larger backpack. He needed his hand free.
The combined weight was heavy, but he'd manage. Legs shaking from the cold and totally not his nerves, Scout grabbed his flashlight with working batteries and closed the van door. The runner shivered as he faced the wooden building.
His heart was pounding. Feet itching to bolt. Hand twitching on his flashlight. All the bravado Scout had built up had faded in an instant. The instant he stepped out from the vehicle's safety.
Come on, he already made it this far. No going back. Well, he was going back, but not like running away. No, he wasn't going to do that. He wasn't. Scout wanted to. Well, he didn't want to, it was freaking complicated. Stupid complicated thoughts and wants. But he wasn't going to run. Not again.
"C'mon, man. Nothing ta be sc-, ta be scared of." Scout murmured, teeth clenched from the cold. One foot at a time.
The runner stalked towards the cabin, eyes wide with scrutiny.
One freakin' foot at a time.
Darkness. Just suffocating darkness everywhere Scout looked when he entered that familiar cabin. It was untouched, just like the day before. And just like before, there stood the gateway to Hell itself. Stupid metal stairs with metal doors and freaking useless lights fixtures. The stupid thing would go off like an alarm bell if he wasn't careful.
It was also the last chance Scout had to turn back. He licked his chapped lips and stared down the descending steps. Like the freaking universe itself was giving him as many chances as possible to turn and walk away. To forget everything. To leave and keep himself safe.
To leave Sniper behind.
Yeah, no, that wasn't happening. Not again. Ma always told him and his brothers to never give in to peer pressure(she didn't count siblings being peers though), and the universe was no exception. In fact, screw the universe in particular! It had the audacity to create a horrible monster that had taken away his team and then had the balls to tell Scout to leave them behind again and again and again!? Well that wasn't happening again!
With a resolve that startled even him, Scout hitched the bag up and darted down the stairs as fast as he could without making a sound. Progress was slow but steady. Eventually the roar of the outside weather pilfered out into silence. The shadows cut sharper and his flashlight felt so small against them. The beam scanned the stairs and walls…
The walls had changed.
At first, everything was the same. Same grimy cement with painted blue lines and occasional old safety posters. But the longer Scout went, the more web-like it became.
Small white strings coated the walls, criss-crossing and spiraling around. Like a film that grew denser and denser. The air was heavy with a cold fog, like the breathy mist he emitted, and a strange smell that made Scout's nose wrinkle at a whiff. It was slightly citrusy and there were hints of what smelled like spoiled milk. But he couldn't smell blood or a decaying body and that was a good sign in his eyes.
And then, just like that, Scout reached Landfall's first level. A cave was what it looked like before. But now?
Scout was a fly who had stepped into a Trapdoor Spider's humble abode. That thought alone made his legs weak. First cockroaches, now spiders? What kind of sick, twisted world was this?
The urge to run straight back up those steps was greater than ever before and Scout had to lock his knees in order to ignore the itch to flee. Bugs, it wasn't a bug, that thing wasn't a bug and it wasn't a spider. It. It was just trying to get to him. All of this was just a, a facade to make Scout not go deeper. Yeah. The Counterfeit was just trying to get into his mind. And d*mn was it doing a good job of that!
Were the freaking webs glowing? Just a bit? Maybe?
Forcing his eyes away from the coated walls, Scout walked on. He made careful steps so as to not touch any of the stragglers crawling out from the walls. Who knows what they did. Scout wasn't going to find out.
Was it possible for your heart to shoot straight out of your chest if it beat too hard? Was starting to feel like it. But he had to focus. Step one, get in the freaking base, completed. Step two, find Sniper, shouldn't be too hard. Four levels, countless rooms, even more countless hallways and junk but it was whatever, didn't mean nothing. He was The Scout for a freaking reason.
The lone runner made it to the end of the hall and slid into the corridor leading to the main multi level staircase. So many freaking webs and strings and everything! And the smell kept getting worse and the stairs were covered in the strings too and his hand was shaking like no tomorrow and not keeping the flashlight still and he was having a hard time even breathing!-
Biting his tongue, hard, Scout forced himself down those steps. His lungs felt constricted. That wasn't good. But he was fine and Sniper will be fine once he finds him and they'll get out and live happily ever freaking after! Making his way past the second floor and onto the third, Scout stumbled into the level with the emergency exit.
It was dark, yes, but not like the levels above. There was less of it as some dull bulb looking things hung from the ceiling or clung to the walls, emitting a faint greenish-white glow. They couldn't be much bigger than his hand. What were they?
Scout didn't check them out. Instead, he slipped the bag off his shoulders and eased it and himself to the ground, careful as to not have the beer bottles clank on the floor. A quiet zipping sound and Scout pulled out a roll of duct tape and Sniper's kukri. In no time at all the runner's mutilated arm was brandishing a foot long blade. He swung it around cautiously, tightening it if it loosened before putting the tape away. What would this really do? Make him feel just a little bit safer. He took out a bright green handgun that weighed almost nothing and zipped the bag back up
Flashlight stored into his pocket, Scout hitched the bag onto his shoulders and cringed when the sound of glass was heard from inside it. There better not be anything broken in there the next time he opens it. Scout stood and forced himself to ignore the sparse glowing cocoons along the walls. At least he wouldn't need to waste his flashlight's battery on this level.
His walking slowed as his concentration was shifting from directions to his breathing. It was getting worse with each step further into the base. Further towards Sniper's last location. Scout needed to calm down. He needed to calm, calm himself, shut his brain off for a moment. Only it wasn't his brain, it was his lungs. They were hitching, getting caught. The taste of stale air on his tongue. That smell entered his nose but not the air. He couldn't. He couldn't-
Fine, Scout was fine! He was still alive and walking towards where he last saw Sniper. Where the marksman was left behind. Only a bit more. Really. No big deal.
Where was he? Scout was close. Yeah, he had to be! It was the corridor with the. With the three hallways. Where Sniper said he could smell pines. Scout took a deep breath-
He couldn't. Scout swallowed. He tried to. His throat wasn't working and his mouth was dry and his lungs wouldn't fill up right and how was that supposed to work that's not how lungs work he was fine minutes ago why was this happening now when he needed to find Sniper and make sure he was okay and say he was sorry and that he was acting like a huge freaking *sshole and and and and and.
The runner's ragged hitches of breath filled the corridors as Scout stumbled down the passageway towards the exit. It took a right, he took right. The passage went left, he dragged himself to the left. And just as he spotted that the cabinet Sniper had been trapped under had been thrown to the side, Scout collapsed in on himself.
Everything was freezing and burning and he couldn't move. Sniper wasn't here. He wasn't here and Scout couldn't move to find him. Scout was alone. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe! Scout was choking on air that he couldn't pull in.
Cold sweat was building on his forehead and chest. His head was swimming and his heart was beating his ribs into submission. His eyes were open but he wasn't seeing anything. It was all there but not in front of him. Fingers let go of whatever he was holding and scrambled for something solid. Something he could use. Use. Use to breathe and sit up and think.
Leather brushed his hand. Head filled with cotton and pulling Scout away from the base, the runner snatched the rough texture with lightning speed and gripped it as hard as he possibly could. And when the roughness grated on his palm and fingers, oxygen forcefully flooded his shaking body.
Inhale, exhale, breath in, breath out. Hold it in a bit and make sure it eased out slow. Real slow. The painful thumping in his chest was lessening. And his head and vision cleared.
The corridor came to view and Scout pushed himself onto his trembling knees. Okay, okay, what the **** was that!? Whatever that was had sent him to the cold floor. His limbs felt weak, even his hand which was still holding the leather thing. Scout, still panting from the mysterious choking, looked down at what he had in his hand.
It was Sniper's hat. It had been left forgotten. So it was impossible that the Aussie had freed himself and escaped. It took him. The b***h had dragged him away.
Scout took the hat and stuffed it into his bag before grabbing his forgotten weapon on the ground. As he did, the pale roots brushed against his hand and a freezing chill ran through it instantly. The runner shot up and glared at the strings.
He hadn't noticed just how many there were in his panicked state. Webs were everywhere, layered on thick and making the sharp hall look more like a tube. Far above at the end of the corridor was the webbed up exit. There was no getting out through that anymore. The gray of the walls were diluted with the ghostly glow and one small cocoon hung from the ceiling. The only vibrant color, if you could call it that, was the smeared trail of blood dragging itself down the corridor back the way Scout came.
Staring at the trail, the runner swallowed. How had he not seen that? He swung the bag over his shoulders and slipped back down the dim maze.
The blood stopped after a while but the strings didn't. Further into the depths of the base they led. The air was so dry down here it was making Scout's nose itch with a passion. Scratching it with the back of his hand, the lone Fortress member stared around at his surroundings. There had been no sign of life since he entered. No Sniper, no Counterfeit, not even the roaches. It was too quiet. His finger on the trigger twitched.
Scout sure could use a drink. Maybe it'd quell his stupid shakes and pulse. His head started hurting and he was tired. What a stupid, horrible place.
Turning left, Scout entered a much more vacant room than the ones before. It was big and there were crates everywhere. Storage room. Anything could hide in here. Freaking great. And the strings weren't in here so no glow. Mentally swearing, Scout placed the green pistol in his mouth and went to grab his flashlight.
Scout froze. His already pounding heart was now a race car's engine, adrenaline coursing through his already spiked veins. There was no way he'd heard that. There was no way he heard his name. The place was just getting to him, yeah, nothing up. He just needed to calm down. There was no sign, no sixth sense prickling at his mind.
But there it was again. Clearer, and distinct. No mistaking that verbal gravel.
Scout bolted towards the closest crate and launched himself behind it, cringing as the bag slammed against the ground. Too noisy, too loud! He pulled his legs towards him and slipped the backpack off as his name grew louder and louder. Spitting the weapon into his lap, Scout ripped the bag open.
"Scout?" That accented voice rang. His hand was frantic as he dug through the canvas bag. Everything he tried to grab slipped from his grasp.
"Scout!" It shouted and Scout's heart leapt to his throat. Spinning around, Scout met Sniper's grey eyes. A hatless Sniper who looked down at him with surprise. The runner's fingers brushed against something smooth and cool.
"Blimey, ya look like ya seen a ghost.-" Sniper barely had time to finish his sentence before a mason jar collided straight into his face, shattering and covering him in rainwater. Scout didn't hesitate. Snatching the bag up, Scout bolted from the room as a pained shout followed him. Swallowing down the building nausea, the runner zipped the bag shut, shoved his flashlight and pistol into his waistband, and grabbed a beer bottle tied to his pack. It slipped from his shaking fingers and broke on the floor.
"S**T!" Scout seethed. He reached for another.
"SCOUT!" His name filled the dark compound. Bottle in hand, he tucked it under his arm and he fished around in his jacket's pocket. The cold metal box grazed his nails.
Before he could grab it, something impossibly fast and solid slammed into his spine. The breath was knocked out of him along with the beer bottle as his bruised body hit the floor. The world, his head, and stomach churned. It felt like his brain had been knocked loose from the impact.
Stars danced in his vision as Scout raised himself onto his elbows. A powerful ringing enveloped the hall, clouding his head and blurring his vision. Blinking, time slowed as Scout laid eyes on a large crate lying to his left. It was broken and falling apart from the force it was thrown with.
"Bloody useless tyke…" That voice. It was muffled and staticky from the ringing in Scout's ears. He snapped his gaze up, blinding him for a split second before the dark shadow at the end of the hall came into view. It was walking towards him, slow and hunched.
Scout got to his knees and felt for the bottle he dropped. It didn't shatter, he'd have heard it. He felt something roll away from his fingers. A strange rumble accompanied the fading ringing. The bottle! He grabbed the bottle with the white cloth sticking out of it and pulled it close. A lone hand rummaged through his pocket and grabbed the lighter.
A click of the metal square in his only hand lit the passageway up in a small orange glow as the flame ignited. Scout could feel the eyes staring at him and the flame as he brought the lighter to the alcohol soaked cloth. He squinted from the sudden light.
The footsteps got closer, faster than before. Scout stuffed the lighter in his pocket and grabbed the bottle. He spun around. He aimed.
And lobbed the Molotov at Sniper.
It collided with the shadow. The sound of shattered glass. And the room bloomed into an aurora of smoke and flame.
The creature, screaming bloody murder, tore at his limbs and face to rid himself of the fire. Scout scurried to his feet, grabbed the bag, and bolted into the compound. Behind him, the gurgling howls of pain filled the fiery darkness.
Scout had been trudging along for at least fifteen minutes. The thing hadn't followed him. At least, he couldn't hear it anymore. Those screams were going to follow him till the day he died, which might actually be today if he wasn't careful. The thought quickened his stride.
Each room he passed, he checked, searching for his Australian teammate. All of them just had boxes or shelves full of canned food that looked so unappealing that even Soldier wouldn't touch them. Or maybe he would, Scout's head hurt too much to remember the patriot's exact traits.
His cleats clicked quietly against the ground. In his hand was the flashlight once more, scanning the area with flickering eyes. Where was he right now? Near the… near the Southwest main hall, right? The directions written on the walls weren't too helpful. How long could he search for? It had turned into Sniper. Unless that had been Sniper, but it couldn't be, right? No one could make those sounds.
But what if he could? He had to be mad at Scout, for being left behind because mad wouldn't hold a candle to what Scout would be if the roles were switched. And now he'd been hit in the face with glass, water, and a Molotov, so throwing a crate into Scout's back seemed a little justified. Oh, what if that was Sniper!? And he had just set his last teammate on fire and left him to burn to death!? Scout didn't stop to see what the water had done. It sounded just like him.
What if it was Sniper?
Scout stopped, and although his feet were unmoving, his mind was racing faster than a fighter jet. There really was only one way to find out, which would be turning around and heading back to see if there was a charred skeleton waiting for him or the furious burn victim of Scout's hasty decision. That, or it wasn't Sniper and the thing was hunting him down for revenge and to do whatever it did to his team. A choice had to be made, and both options risked sending Scout to the pearly gates.
Chewing on his lip, squinting into the darkness, Scout forced himself to stop and think about his plan of action. Soon the tapping of toes and small mumbles filled the hall. Then, a sigh, and Scout swore miserably. He wasn't going back.
The BLU runner jogged deeper into the base to find his lost teammate. Room after room after room he checked. Scout even opened some large crates in the hopes of finding Sniper like a kid on Christmas morning. No such luck. And, despite the constant stream of reassurances he told himself, Scout's hope was fading and fading fast. Quite the opposite of his unease because the longer he went without hearing anything, seeing anything or even smelling something other than that curled milk odor, Scout began to think he made the wrong choice.
What if that really had been Sniper? Scout whined. He actually whined at the notion. It was quiet, and his voice cracked at the end. All Scout knew was that the Sniper he ignited hadn't reappeared in the entire hour of searching. Has it been an hour? It felt like it. Scout needed a break, just to pause and rethink. Rethink what he was even doing back in this dank smelly hellhole. So many questions, so many what ifs.
Up ahead were more crossroads leading to more storage rooms. Not bothering to look at the faded signs hidden beneath the strings, Scout made his way towards the right one. It had the faintest of glows coming from the doorway. In there Scout wouldn't need to use his flashlight; the beam was hurting his eyes from the bright contrast.
Rubbing his eyes after shutting off the tool and slipping it into his pants' pocket, Scout shuffled into the room. Once again, a storage room filled with worthless boxes and crates that towered over him in teetering pillars. This base could screw right off, worthless piece of-
The runner's mind blanked as he spotted the light source. The pounding heart and restlessness pilfered out as Scout stared at the huge gleaming pod. It hung from the low ceiling and rested face to face with Scout. It was so much bigger than the others he found. Those were small and dull, he could hardly even call them light sources. But this one was him sized, if not bigger, and emitted a ghostly aura. When Scout drew closer, he could see it was made of the same strings as before except wider and slightly transparent. Transparent enough so that Scout could see something in it, but he couldn't make out the details. It was just a dim black shape.
Common sense was forgotten as Scout reached out and touched the surface. It numbed his fingertips and felt slick with liquid. But when Scout pulled his hand away, it was as dry as before, just a bit clammy. What was it? Was… was it an egg sack? Was that thing actually some spider-bug-demon-monster? He wasn't sure if he wanted to find out.
Scout walked around the capsule, eyeing it with something. It wasn't fear but it definitely wasn't awe. With his Kukri extension, Scout poked the sack. It had little give and after pushing harder when the wall couldn't be cut with a simple jab, the cocoon ripped.
The smell that filled the base rushed out with such a force it left Scout gagging and reeling. It was far more potent than before. With burning eyes and an even worse nose, Scout looked up and peered into the hole he made. The size of the hole made no difference when the runner spotted its contents.
A yellow marksman patch surrounded by sky blue fabric.
"Holy s**t…"
The scraping of boxes and anything Scout could find filled the room. One after the other Scout placed them until a flimsy staircase reached the ceiling. Wasting no time, Scout leapt on his creation and began sawing the cocoon off the roof. The knife made quick work of the hard glue and his furious swinging only added to it. With one last strike, the glowing cocoon fell to the ground with a scratchy thump.
Scout jumped off the building and grabbed the hole he made. With a fierce tug, the walls ripped apart and revealed Sniper. The real one. And Scout paled.
The man was limp with ashen features and face gaunt. What looked like hundreds of the white strings were embedded deep into his pale skin. And those wide unblinking eyes. They didn't look right. They looked like they were made of frosted glass with his irises dull and sanded.
"Oh **** me. Snipes, Snipah, can ya hear me, man?" Scout couldn't stop himself, words were spilling out faster than his thoughts. Sniper didn't move, didn't even look at him. Was he? Scout grabbed one of his wrists and felt for a pulse. For a horrible moment, he felt nothing. Just cold skin against his own. But then motion beneath his fingers and Scout let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.
"Okay, okay, Snipah, I dunno if you can hear me or not. H*ll, if you're even conscious, I've heard of people sleepin' with eyes open, but guess what? I'm back! I'm back and I'm getting ya outta here, man! Soon as ya start movin', I give ya some weapons or whatever ya need and then we'll leave and maybe burn this place ta da ground too." Sniper didn't move. Scout sat there and waited for the older man to speak, to do anything other than just lying there motionless. He opened his mouth to talk again when a distant voice rang out.
"Oh s**t." Scout hissed before grabbing Sniper's arm and dragging him out of the cocoon. He tried to, at least, before tugging did nothing and Sniper was still stuck in the capsule. Scout ripped the walls further as the voice rang out again. The glue on the ceiling was holding Sniper's legs in place; one looked really bad with swelling and dried blood. Scout snapped his head around, looking for a hiding place.
"Scout." A booming voice called. Scout jumped to his feet, began to dart, and bent back down to grab Sniper's cell. A firm grip later and the runner dragged the dimming pod through the maze of towering crates and shelves. Heavy was an understatement of its weight. Speaking of Heavy.
"You cannot hide, cowards!" The Russian thundered. Scout gulped and pulled harder. A sharp corner bumped into his back. Looking behind, he spotted a Mann Co. crate the size of a shed. Perfect. The sound of weighty steps was almost in the room.
For only a minute, Scout released the cocoon to grab the lip of the crate's side. He shoved the blade into the wood and pushed. It snapped off with surprising ease. Whipping around, Scout grabbed Sniper and dragged him into the dark crate before grabbing the side and pulling it back up just as the footsteps stopped.
Darkness enveloped the cramped space as the Scout held the lid in place. The footsteps were muffled through the wood but the runner could make out the lumbering moving further and further though the room. His lungs were constricting again. Scout held his breath.
Words filtered through the planks. Accents and gravel and foreign words. Too many words, too many voices. His vision flickered, making Scout jolt. It made no noise. Thankfully. And as Scout's heart slowed, the voices faded too.
He sat there for a while longer, listening for more noise. And some did come in the form of a weighty dragging and something resembling snarls. That faded far quicker than the last and Scout finally relaxed.
"I," he swallowed, his voice rough with dryness, "I think it's gone. Okay, I'll- I'll try ta get you outta dat thing." Scout turned to analyze his companion and turned on his flashlight. Sniper still hadn't moved, staring directly at the wall with only the faint rising of his chest staying off Scout's immediate urge to declare the man dead. He pulled himself closer and got a better look at the webs trapping Sniper. Scout squinted at them, licking his lips in thought. Then, he took the pistol still stuck to his waistband from before and shot a stream of water onto the hard glue trapping Sniper's legs.
When the pale shell didn't change, Scout raised his knife arm to chop it off. But then a small sizzle noise rose when he sprayed the fibers again and a thin line of smoke or something came with it. Scout pulled the trigger again and again, watching the glue dissolve under the water's contact. After a point, Scout just took one of his rain jars and poured it over the white mess. And in a minute, Sniper's legs were free.
The strings dissolved slightly too but only the parts connected to the base. There were still countless webs embedded in the marksman's skin. Scout touched one and that same cold numbness bloomed on his fingertips.
"Alright, uh. Aw man, I need ta grab these, don't I?" Scout said, mostly to himself. Sniper was as immobile as ever. "Okay, aw crap. Look, uh, just, freakin', just don't, uh, die, when I do, okay?" Scout looked over his friend's limp form, deciding. There was a string right on the side of Sniper's jaw. He'd start there.
Taking the icy fiber into his hand, Scout gently pulled. It didn't seem to do much so he pulled slightly harder. It gave. The runner pulled and saw the white string grow pink and slick the further it came out. He tried to ignore the blood. But then Sniper moved.
It was a twitch. Right below the web's entrance, Scout saw a muscle seize. Then Sniper's entire body began to contract and shudder like a seizure.
"Oh ****! Aw crap, aw crap, crap, crap!" Scout's voice was shrill as he yanked the string. It shot out of Sniper and left only a pinprick of blood. Sniper stopped shaking. Well, the guy didn't die, at least. Scout made for another string.
For the better half of an hour Scout sat there pulling the fibers from Sniper's skin. Each one led to the same seizing and small pinprick of blood. He'd just gotten to Sniper's left leg when he heard the marksman clear his throat. It was dry, coarse, and sounded painful. Cringing from the sound, Scout turned to look at his teammate and wished he hadn't.
Sniper was finally looking at him. Or, trying to. Those weird frosted eyes were unfocused and faded. But there was no mistaking the blaze behind them. Scout turned away. As he focused on removing the last strings, Scout heard Sniper testing his voice out, every crackle and groan made the runner tense up in anticipation. It really shouldn't have been a surprise when the first thing Sniper said was "You ran.", but the cold rage still froze Scout in his tracks.
"Well, I came back." Was the only thing Scout could reply with. He took hold of another string.
"You ran." Sniper spat, dragging himself up to lean against the crate's wall. "You left me to die, you little b*****d." Scout's first instinct was to bare his teeth and retort. He didn't. Instead he watched as his teammate slumped against the wood, grimacing from pain and anger. Color was coming back to his face with the tiny punctures smearing when Sniper brought up a hand to rub his eyes and cheek. His nose was crooked.
"What happened to your fleece?"
"Does it look like Oi know!?" Sniper glared, bringing his hand down and staring at it. "Where are we?"
"Landfall."
"No! Whot are- bugger, where?" Sniper started rubbing his eyes again, harder. Scout frowned.
"In, uh, in a crate? Cause we had ta hide?" The way the marksman looked up at nothing in particular sent an unnerving prickling feeling down Scout's spine. He was glaring, then spoke.
"Oi can't bloody see." A cold pit opened in Scout's chest.
"Whaddaya freakin' mean ya can't see? Your eyes are open-"
"Oi know they're open, you little snake, they've been open for, hhhhgggg- bugger!" Sniper cursed, running a shaking hand through his hair. "How long?" The harsh beam of the flashlight cut deep shadows into Sniper's face, making his anger all the worse. "How. Long."
"Bout," Scout paused under the Australian's scorn, "about eighteen hours, maybe? At- at least."
"At least…" Sniper mirrored, ghostly eyes widening. Then his expression changed, and Scout had to look away.
"You left me down here, not knowing if Oi was going to die or not, forced to keep moi eyes open, for eighteen hours?" Sniper's voice betrayed no emotion. At first. But by the end it had risen into something that made Scout's jaw tighten and bite his tongue.
"It's not like I wanted ta," He mumbled under that fiery gaze, untying the handbag from the large duffel bag, "I don't just go leavin' pals ta be killed as a pastime." He heard what sounded like a scoff. "So ya seriously can't see nothin'?"
"Only shapes and shadows," Sniper rasped, scratching at a trail of holes on his arm. "Oi haven't been able to blink in over eighteen bloody hours." Scout blew a sharp exhale through his nose. Sniper had a right to be mad. Sure, yes, Scout would be too if the roles were reversed. He kept telling himself that as he opened the handbag.
"Couldn't sleep, couldn't feel a bloody thing, couldn't do anything," the marksman spoke, once again rubbing his eyes with a blood stained hand. "Eighteen hours… at least…"
"Well, now ya can, hooray." Scout mumbled. He said it quietly. Not quiet enough, apparently.
"You ran with your tail between your legs, you don't get to be snappish with me. You're not the one who was hanging with these things worming into your bloody skin and makin' ya relive whot happened over and over again!" Sniper said while pulling out the few remaining strings left in him.
"Well, now you're free! Because I chose ta come back!" Scout snarled, his own blaze burning too hot to smother. "I didn't have ta, I told you dat if you got you're stupid *ss in trouble, I wasn't riskin' my own neck ta save it! Dat's what I said! What, didja think I was freakin' bluffin'?"
"Oi thought you were bein' a little d***head who was throwing a temper tantrum because Oi didn't let you sleep the day away!"
"Shuddup, you *sshole," The younger man bellowed, "I had a d*mn good reason not wantin' ta come down here, you're da one who pushed it! You're da d**khead who wouldn't listen ta reason! You did this ta yourself, ain't my fault ya got stuck under dat cabinet, h*ll, probably deserved what happened; serves ya right for not freakin' listenin' ta only guy who knows what's what! Betcha won't make dat mistake again, huh? Maybe I should've left ya hanging longer; ya lucky I came back at all." The words, once they were spat from Scout's mouth, left a sour aftertaste. One that made him grimace. A taste that was followed by a silence that made Scout grimace even harder. He looked up.
Sniper wasn't looking at him anymore. Not with a glare, at least, but something else. Something different, and it made Scout's mouth dry. It. It was hollow. Just hollow. He tried to keep Sniper's frosted gaze, but couldn't.
He looked away.
"...If," Scout started after a moment, with his voice ringing distant and numb, "if ya need ta sleep or whatever, I'll keep watch. And I brought some stuff, some things, y'know." He pushed the handbag over to Sniper, who took it without a word. "It's food and water. I got more water too, for fighting, and mollys for emergencies, but I'm down. I'm down two cause one broke and, and I had ta use one. On. On you, I mean, it looked like you, not dat it. Dat it was you cause I knew it wasn't, it's a horrible pretender…" His voice pilfered out. There was no more strength behind it, just that sour aftertaste. It was a hollow gesture. Sniper opened the handbag and took out a water bottle.
"...Oi'm not sleeping down here, too dangerous." He finally said after downing the entire bottle. His voice was just like Scout's. "Oi can last till we get out."
"Oh, right, yeah, dat's a good point." Scout said. The furious heat that had engulfed the crate not two minutes ago was now freezing him to the ground. And he couldn't stand it.
Anger, he could deal with, it was something he was a bit of an expert in. The red hot kind, not whatever this was. Fiery ire would make people spill out and just blurt out what they were really thinking. What made them mad and why. And that helped Scout a lot, for either egging someone on even more, or actually helping whoever opened up.
This, however, this was the opposite. The cold kind made people shut up harder, made them terse and not actually tell Scout what was up. It was just, not good. It made everyone upset, no fun to be had. And right now it felt like the entire crate had been turned into a huge ice cube. An ice cube that was getting colder by the second.
"I also brought some of those smaller medkits," Scout added, pulling open the duffel bag. He pushed aside the jars and other supplies. "I know I packed some- why is your freakin' rifle still in here, no wonder it was so freakin' heavy." He reached past the incredibly weighty rifle and grabbed the light blue containers. "Bingo."
Only two. Those wouldn't heal something as nasty as a broken leg. He handed Sniper the magic-like medicine anyway.
It took the marksman a moment to actually pinpoint where Scout's hand was to take the bottles, but when he did he grabbed them and popped them open. A faint purple glow seeped out from the caps, followed by the distinct lightshow of Medibeam. And all Scout could do was stare at the soft aura infusing itself into Sniper's skin.
The hundreds of holes in his body healed with no scabbing to be seen. A faint pop and the crooked bridge of Sniper's nose was back to it's straight self. And Scout watched in repressed relief as the horrible fog of Sniper's eyes faded as his grey irises sharpened back into detail. The marksman blinked for a bit, before looking down at his leg. It had eased the swelling down, but it was obviously still busted.
"Do ya think you can walk?" Scout asked. Sniper didn't respond right away, instead opting to brace himself against the wall and push himself to stand. The runner took the handbag, stuffed it into the duffel bag, and swung it over his shoulders. His companion was turning pale again but rasped a quick "Yeah, let's go." before squaring his shoulders and limping towards the crate's entrance. He didn't look back.
"Yeah, okay. Wonder what was stored in this thing anyway?" Scout shone the flashlight around the "small" box. The light glinted off of dark metal and Scout's eyes widened.
"No, please, take your bloody time, it's not like we're in mortal danger or anything."
"Hey, man, back off! I just found something real sweet!" Scout hissed as he exited the crate with his flashlight tucked under his arm and something wooden in his lone hand. Sniper wasn't impressed.
"Whoi?"
"Why not?" Scout retorted, swinging a Boston Basher side to side. "I don't have ta use your machete anymore."
"Every single time you use those you always end up hurting- y'know whot?" Sniper threw up his hands in defeat and started limping away, "fine, have it. Oi'm not sticking around to talk jus' be caught again." With the abrupt end to the conversation, Scout was left standing silent, watching Sniper walk on.
"Well," Scout began, trotting up to meet up with Sniper, "I can still defend us with it; there's room in da sack for it ts fit. Any weapon's a good weapon, and," he swallowed, "and just, y'know, it could help…" There was no reason to continue. Talking was bound to bring any unwanted freaks to find them, and Sniper wasn't listening anyway.
Scout took the lead. With the flashlight back in hand after packing away the club, the runner crept around corners and led them through the webbed base. If Sniper thought or felt anything to Landfall's unplanned interior redesign, he wasn't making it known. In fact, he never said a word. The only noise the marksman made was the occasional grunt and sharp inhale from a bad step.
Those were the only noises until they reached the second level, where the Mess Hall and dorms were held. Then, and although they were quiet, Scout could make out the obvious panting from behind. He stopped, firstly to scan the area and listen for The Counterfeit, and secondly to give Sniper a hand. When after a silent minute of listening nothing was heard, Scout turned around and walked up to his companion.
Sniper once again said nothing, only meeting Scout's eyes to acknowledge him before looking back down. His skin was glistening with sweat, and his face had returned to it's ashen state. Without a word, Scout stood at his right side, grabbed his arm, and lifted Sniper's weight off of his injured leg. Instantly the older man was leaning against Scout like a crutch. A moment of readjustment and they soon were making progress through the base.
Quiet. All of it was too quiet. There was that same tension from before, only different, and somehow worse. The longer Scout marched lockstep with the silent Sniper, the worse it got. A chord being wound too tight, that's what this was. The combined weight of the bag filled with water, weapons, and now Sniper was keeping Scout's speed agonizingly slow. His ankle wasn't a bother anymore, he should be running and fighting and not thinking about these kinds of things. Like that sour taste that was building with each heavy limp and making his stomach churn with something that wasn't nausea. He still wanted to puke, though, just to get rid of that taste that made him want to be buried alive. The taste grew unbearable each time Scout heard Sniper hiss in pain from stepping with his bad leg.
The image of an unfinished portrait filled his head.
"Hey, I…" Scout swallowed, voice raspy from neglect, "I really wasn't thinkin straight. Back there, I, I mean. When I said ya des- y'know, dat was. Dat was really ****ed up of me ta say. I, I didn't really mean it. Like, well, I did, at da time, cause I was mad and… I didn't mean it. I- I shouldn't have said it." That taste eased back. But the quiet remained. Chewing on his cheek, Scout stole a glance at his companion. Even through the harsh darkness of the compound, Scout could see the faint outlines of Sniper's eyes on him.
They looked away. Scout nearly gagged from the rotten bitterness that filled his throat. The quiet remained.
It took far longer than Scout would've liked to reach the first level again. He hadn't complained. He wanted to, very badly, but any side glance at Sniper was enough to bite his tongue. He could wait a bit longer before moaning about this stupid place. And Scout had to listen for that thing. It still hadn't shown up again, and that was, in fact, not okay. Because it could be planning an ambush, or waiting for them at the entrance, only toying with them. It could be watching and jump out from the darkness and rip them to shreds and take Sniper away again and pin him to the ground and pull his hair and rip his skin and-
His lungs were hitching again. If Sniper noticed, he didn't say anything. Maybe that was a good thing. Probably meant he knew Scout would be fine. The idea was better than the quiet. Anything was better than that.
The pair limped along a narrow hall. They'd just passed the armory, if Scout's sense of direction was correct, which it was, no weird breathing problems or monsters were able to stifle that. His legs were burning. Sniper's were probably too. Worse, even. And they still had that hell of a staircase left to climb. Scout mumbled a fresh string of curses.
There was still no sign of the creature. How had it not found them yet? They took a left. Maybe it relied on sound? That made sense. They passed three doorways and took a right. Some predators only had sound to use, like bats, or elephants. Were elephants a predator? They had to be, they were huge, like bears, except African bears, and big noses. Maybe they relied on smell? Did the Counterfeit smell things? Could it track them through smell? Sniper and him would be screwed. Another left turn, then straight into the main hall.
The staircase. At the very end of the hall, was the staircase. Scout hitched the bag up and pulled Sniper up too. Both had been slipping. His calves were burning even worse but the finish line was in sight. A final burst of stamina would get them out.
"Alright, let's go." Scout said. Sniper remained silent but Scout could feel the man's shoulders roll back and the muscles in his arm tense up. The runner did the same and after their pace quickened into a brisk walk.
Ears piqued for any alien sound, Scout hitched Sniper up again when the marksman stumbled. Only a grunt before they reached the stairs. Scout took the first step and immediately felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
What's the catch? This was too easy, far easier than last time. What was the catch? Shouldn't they be chased right now by the thing, like in those stories Demo liked to tell during Campfire Fridays, or in those horror movies he would sometimes watch with Medic? This was too easy!
"Come on." A gruff, exhausted voice peeled Scout away from his worries. Shaking the thoughts away, Scout helped Sniper ascend up the steps. Whatever the cause for this simplicity was, Scout wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Step by grueling step they climbed. Sniper's subtle panting had grown into shaking and strangled sounds that made Scout cringe. He wasn't fairing much better. He probably should have eaten something today or last night.
"We- we can stop for a sec, let ya, let ya catch your breath."
"No." Sniper rasped, "we aren't stopping."
"Come on, man, you're- you're barely standin'. You aren't standin', I'm da guy keepin' ya head above water. Let's just-"
"We aren't stopping." The tone left no room for debate. Scowling, Scout tightened his grip on Sniper's wrist and hauled them up the steps. If Sniper didn't want to stop, fine, they weren't stopping. Scout tried to ignore his and Sniper's obvious inaudible protests to the sudden burst of speed. It felt like his legs were about to fall off.
Was that just his clanky steps or something else he heard?
Anything it might have been was drowned out by the sound of rain. They reached the top of the steps and into the cabin. Scout looked around and found no signs of sunlight peeking through. It was still nighttime and it was still raining.
The short walk from the stairs to the door felt like a hundred miles. They arrived and Sniper reached out and pushed open the door. Sheets of rain were slicing through the late evening air. And about thirty feet away stood the van. The wonderfully stupid cramped camper van.
"You should probably go ta sleep," Scout said once they reached the van. "I can take da wheel for a while-"
"No." Sniper managed to say while leaning with his hands against the van's wall. "You are not. You are not driving moi van."
"But you're about ta pass out, and you need more medkits!" Scout reasoned. "There's tons of da stuff in da camper dat'll heal your leg, and I'm a great driver!"
"If there's so many," Sniper turned to look Scout dead in the eye, "Whoi did you only bring two?"
"I needed room for the water jars and da like…" Sniper didn't reply, only turning back to the van's wall. He stood there silent once again and Scout was left to fidget and wait for a response. For a moment, Scout thought the Aussie had fallen asleep in the pouring rain. That is, until Sniper suddenly made for the driver's seat.
"We're going. Put your stuff in the back and get in. Oi'm not staying here a second longer." He said with a hollow voice as he opened the driver's side and got in. Scout stood as silent as The Sniper. Then he walked over to the back, ripping off the kukri as he did.
The taste of rot was on the runner's tongue as he entered the dark van.
Well, I had a bit o' difficulty writing this because I don't like writing arguing characters too much, but's it's for the plot so I will endure. I also got caught up researching things that I didn't add into the chapter so that was a waste of time, sorry about that. Anyways, I do have something to ask. For those who are willing to comment/review my story, what is your favorite and least favorite chapters so far and why? I want to know so that I learn which ones work, which ones don't as much, and what I'm good at or need to focus on improving. Thanks for reading, have a good day, or night, or evening, or whatever because I am currently typing this at 2:30 AM :)
