Why did it have to be Sniper? Out of all the people who had to survive, why oh why did it have to be that man? Not that Miss Pauling hated him, no, quite the opposite, Sniper was someone who she shared a great deal in common with, mostly their views on not making their work a personal matter. Unfortunately they also shared the same views on privacy and hiding one's tracks so well that they could essentially no longer exist. A view which was coming back to bite Miss Pauling in the rear as she entered her car once again defeated.
This was the third campsite she stopped at and still no sign of the two mercenaries she was looking for. Campsites were awful when it came to gaining information because the main users of such places usually didn't stay long enough for the assistant to ask questions. Of course she still tried, anyone could be a witness or have some clues and Miss Pauling was nothing if not thorough. It was still a pain to go through considering the one man who actually did recognize Sniper's van was a drug user who also thought bears were an extraterrestrial species whose home planet was Jupiter and who came to Earth to become "less stupider"(his words).
That was two campsites ago and Miss Pauling still hasn't found a single other witness. At least she was on the right track, even if the directions she got were from a crackhead. As she sat down, she rested her head against the steering wheel, groaning. She was tired. This whole mess was taking away all her attention and she hadn't dug a grave in over three days now, a new record. Not that she'd be able to at the moment even if she had a body, she still hadn't restocked on Quicklime. She groaned again and reached for the expresso she bought in the nearest town.
The taste was awful, really it was. Miss Pauling normally loved coffee, that's what she always said. Thing is that what she viewed as coffee was far different than what others thought she would think coffee was. She couldn't stand plain roasts, there had to be at least something in it to offset the overpowering bitterness, be it cream or sugar. Honestly, her favorite version were lattes with milk foam and hints of caramel but old, run down diners seem only to serve expressos which was what she was now drinking with an irritated expression. Or maybe it was disgust. The taste of black was on her tongue.
BEEP!
"MMRH!" Miss Pauling inhaled the scalding liquid from shock. As she was sent into a coughing fit, she snatched up the brick-like phone resting on her passenger seat. It was blaring and through watery eyes Miss Pauling pressed the answer button.
"Yes, Administrator?" She managed to say before another cough wracked her small frame.
"Did you take a drink when I was about to call you again?" The feminine drawl asked through the small speaker. Miss Pauling nodded before remembering that it was a phone and answered "Yes."
"This is the third time I've had to remind you not to do that, Miss Pauling, I shouldn't have to at all." The Administrator chastised.
"I know, I'm sorry, it won't happen again." Miss Pauling wheezed as her coughing finally settled down.
"Hm," The woman on the other side didn't sound convinced but she continued anyway. "There have been some recent developments regarding this mysterious situation that you should be made aware of."
"Really? What are they?"
"Well, given the person in question that brought them to my attention, I think it's best for you to hear it from them." Miss Pauling frowned. That didn't sound good. From The Administrator's tone, she could already tell her superior was annoyed. And if she was annoyed, she typically killed the person who annoyed her if they were a messenger. But the particular messenger was apparently more important than some nameless relay, and there was only one person who could make The Administrator that irritated and live through it.
"Wait, Ma'am, you don't mean-"
"I'm transferring our associate's call to yours so that he can relay all the information you need." And with that, The Administrator's voice cut out with a beep and soon after, a thunderous accent filled the airways and Miss Pauling had to hold the phone an arms length away to save her ear drums.
"-And Oi've already made reservations, so believe me when Oi say, Helen, you will love their-"
"Good afternoon, Mister Hale." Miss Pauling interrupted. The voice paused only for a millisecond before responding.
"Ah! Well if it isn't you!... Who are you?"
"Miss Pauling, sir. Uh, Helen's personal assistant. We've met."
"AH! Miss Poppyseed, how're you this fine evening? Don't' answer that, Oi don't really care, this is just a formality because we're business partners if only technically! And whoi are you on Helen's private line?"
"She told me that you have some information regarding our missing mercenaries that I should know." Miss Pauling said while rubbing her eyes, "And it's 'Pauling', not 'Poppyseed'."
"Ah, that! Well, Miss Parachute, you see, since Oi'm the C.E.O of Mann Co., Oi have to know all the ins and outs of moi factories around the globe, which means moi employees and assistants such as Bidwell inform me of whenever they're doing good, doing bad, or are currently being protested against by swarms of hippies!"
"Yes, I remember you telling me this whenever we meet to arrange weapon purchases, which is often. And it's 'Pauling', Mister Hale."
"-And during the last boring business meeting, Bidwell pulled me aside and told me that three of moi factories in the Pacific Northwest were having some problems that weren't caused by hippies!"
"What kind of problems?" Miss Pauling asked, sitting straighter at the news.
"Problems like all their employees disappearing into thin air and the factory floors being covered head to toe in silly string. Right now Oi have moi top men researching these vandalisms and if it turns out that it was a unionization, everyone of them will be fired, and if it's something else, Oi head down there moiself to beat the snot outta whotever caused this!"
"Wait, so all the workers are gone without a trace?" Miss Pauling asked, "how many work there? Are there any adjacent buildings or businesses that have been attacked? Is it just Mann Co. facilities and if so, that would mean it's a string of sabotage and that what happened to BLU team wasn't an accident and whatever this is might also be targeting RED-"
"Slow down, Miss Pinestart! Oi'm not one you should be asking, that would be Bidwell, he's the one Oi sent to supervise the research. Oi've got a muti-billion dollar company to run and a Tibetan tiger to wrestle!" In the background Miss Pauling could hear a roar followed by several screams, "She's getting antsy for a fight!"
"Well, since you're obviously busy, could you put Mister Bidwell on the phone so he could answer my questions?"
"Absolutely not! Oi never let anyone use Moi personal phone, he has his own. And even if Oi wanted to, he's not here, he's on the ground and will let me know whotever new thing pops up, whether that be competing companies Oi'll need to fight or ninja hippies that Oi'll need to fight!" Another roar interrupted the burly Australian and he laughed, "Well, this sheila is giving moi employees a run for their money so Oi'll be signing off now. Oh, and Miss Prophet, you're restricted from going over and searching around in moi factories, this is a private matter for Mann Co., not that little Fortress thing you're connected with! Now, c'mere you striped sissy, Oi've got a fist with your name on- Shhhhththth." The call disconnected into static and Miss Pauling was left imagining the fight that was currently happening. She reached over to grab her expresso before thinking better of it and waiting in silence, watching the overcast sky. She didn't need to wait long.
"Do I need to make clear what your new assignment is?" The Administrator's voice cut back in with a beep.
"No, Ma'am, I understand."
"Good, do not fail me." And with that, Miss Pauling was left alone in the small purple car. After a moment, she reached over and took a sip of coffee. Conflicted. Most assignments the Administrator gives her doesn't make her feel like this. But this wasn't most assignments.
She sighed, and started the engine. Sorry Sniper, sorry Scout, but she had news orders, and she wasn't in a position to refuse.
"Just," Miss Pauling started before a blush crept on her face. Talking to herself would help no one, so she finished her thought silently as she pulled onto the highway and towards the closest Mann Co. Factory.
Just stay alive, and stay together, so I can find you both easier once I come back.
Plip, plip, plip.
Cold. Cold was the only thing Scout felt at the moment. That, and the rhythmic raindrops falling on his eyelid. He shut them harder until stars danced in the blackness of his closed eyes, but it didn't help.
Plip, plip, plip.
Groaning awake, the runner squinted into the morning light. Although his vision was blurred with sleepiness and water, Scout could make out the dark shapes of trees all around him. The sky was ashen gray with overcast clouds. The storm had passed during the night. And he was so cold.
Scout rolled onto his back and shuddered at the sudden dampness that flooded it. Okay, so he was on the ground. The muddy, puddle covered ground. He groaned again, voice rough from neglect. His damp clothes were leeches, clinging to his skin and sucking away his warmth. No wonder he was so cold. Scout shivered and sneezed.
He then swore through gritted teeth as pain rocketed through his system. Scout crumbled in on himself, forming a tight ball to cover his aching midriff. What… What the heck happened? It was too hard to think, too foggy. Forcing himself to uncurl, Scout grabbed his wet shirt with his hand-
And spotted the blood and bile stains coating the fabric. Oh. Oh…
Scout turned his head and yep, the murky puddles around him were pink with blood too. No doubt it was also filled with other stuff he threw up last night. Gross. Yeah, even though he was parched, there was no way he'd drink from that. Scout shivered again. Wow, he was cold.
Plip, plip, plip.
There were still stray raindrops falling on his clouded head. Probably from the tree branches above. Scout shuffled to the side and away from his small shower. He shivered again when a light breeze crept through the forest. And sneezed again which caused another surge of pain to flood his stomach and legs.
Biting back the f-bomb he wanted to shout, Scout decided to make like Engineer and assess the damage done to him. His face was sore and there was a nasty bump both on his cheek and the back of his head. His legs felt made of jelly and there was that distinct tender stiffness in his calves that always followed after a cramp. And his stomach. Oh ****, his stomach! Did he get shanked during the night? He couldn't even stretch himself out, Scout had to stay hunched just to keep the nausea away. And of course, there was the cold. Cold caused by being forced to sleep outside in the rain.
Honestly, it would be a miracle if he didn't catch ne-moan-ea or whatever it's called.
Somehow managing to shimmy out of his soaking jacket, Scout tried ringing it out. That went as well as one can expect from someone with only one hand. Sometimes it still felt like he had two. Sometimes.
Well, it was still damp but less than before, so Scout shook it mercilessly to dislodge any dew still clinging to his jacket. Except it wasn't his jacket. As he held it out, goosebumps riddling his arm, Scout stared at the yellow marksman patches sewn onto the shoulders.
"****in' b***h," Scout growled. The events preceding the present were finally coming back to him.
He ran. Scout ran for as long as he could with no light to guide him and the forest fighting against him. Brambles had cut his ankles, rain had soaked him and his vision, and the alcohol he drank had made the world a kaleidoscope mess Scout had to go through. He ran until his legs finally gave out and where he fell was where he woke up, next to pools of bile and blood. All because of Sniper.
With a shout of resentment, the runner hurled the navy hoodie as far away as he could. That complete b*****d! That freaking d**khead! What was wrong with that guy!? Scout glared at the clothing, hoping it would burst into flames if he stared at it long enough.
"Just a freakin' jerk…" he mumbled as he brought his knees to his chest. The quiet patter of rain echoed after him.
Plip, plip, plip.
Scout sniffed, wiping his nose with his arm and started to shiver. Badly. Without the extra layer of protection, the cold wind had complete access to the last reserves of body heat Scout had. He looked back to the coat, glaring.
No, he didn't need any handouts. He didn't need the freaking pity. Besides, Sniper wanted him dead anyway, he doesn't care what happens to Scout, if he ever did at all. Scout huffed a chilly laugh from his ragged throat. Course he didn't care, Sniper said himself that they weren't friends. They were never friends.
"And never will be if you keep actin' like an *sshole."
Scout screamed a completely manly and not at all a girly scream when those words were spoken. Who said that!? He snapped his head around, looking up and down the trees surrounding him. Nothing. Nothing and nobody. Alright, alright, okay, maybe it was just the wind. Yeah, just some leaves in the breeze, Scout probably was just imagining things.
"Heh," Scout breathed, grinning an uncomfortable grin, "okay, yeah, I'm alone, yeah. It's, it's fine, just need ta calm down."
"No, what you need is a freakin' reality check." Came that voice again.
"Who da h*ll said dat!?" Scout sprang to his feet before landing right on his behind when the world went black.
"Up here, dumb*ss." The voice deadpanned. Once Scout's vision came back, he swiveled his head up and around until he spotted the voice's owner.
It was a man. A young man sitting on a branch and leaning against the trunk; a man who looked very, very familiar. He wore a blue tee shirt with the sleeves rolled up and two intact arms. His brown pants were stuffed into his calf length socks. And on his head sat a gray cap and an orange headpiece.
"...what da…?"
"Yeah, now ya see me." the man glared down at Scout, "I finally got through your thick skull."
"Who da h*ll are you?"
"You know who I am," he replied, looking super annoyed, "and I'm sick an' tired of you pullin' this crap."
"Wha-" Scout stuttered before shouting "I ain't pullin' nothin', I'm just sittin' here!"
"Sittin' there bein' a moron."
"I ain't a moron!"
"Then go put on dat jacket before ya die from frostbite." the stranger said while playing with the dog tags around his neck.
"As if, I don't need dat guy's stupid jacket, I'm doin' just fine." Scout growled, crossing his arms.
"Bulllllls**t!" he replied, glaring down at Scout. The figure's outline was like smoke, and if Scout stared too long, he could almost see straight through his body.
"Ey, screw you, you don't know nothin'! Ya don't know s**t, Jack!"
"Listen, you grumpy ****," Scout's clone snapped, eyes lit up with ire, "I've had it up ta here with this freakin' charade! Three times I've watched this happen. Three times I've had ta sit and watch you screw everythin' up because you're too stupid ta think two steps ahead!
"So now, because ya never listened ta me, not once, I had ta drag myself out here and actually beat some sense into ya because you can't bother ta sit and shuddup for three seconds!" The Scout crossed his arms, staring daggers at Scout. His face was blurry, and despite how much Scout tried, he couldn't focus on it; his head hurt too much when he did.
"What are you gonna do?" Scout growled, standing up before the spinning world grew too much and he sat back down. The Scout scoffed.
"Eh, nothin' really, just gonna sit back and watch da fireworks." Even through the thick fog of blurriness, Scout could see the s**t-eating grin planted on the man's face. In such a strange situation, confused, helpless, and unable to stand, Scout did the only thing he knew. Like finding a buoy in a ferocious sea, Scout clung to the one familiar foundation he had: rage.
"Reaaallly now, is dat what you're gonna do?" He started, already feeling the boiling heat flood his body, "You're just gonna watch me sit here and do nothin', then why da **** are ya out here, then!?" The Scout shrugged.
"You tell me."
"I don't have ta tell ya anything!" Scout shouted. "There ain't nothin' I wanna say, ain't nothin' I'm gonna say, ta you or Snipah!"
"Who said anything about Snipah?" The Scout asked innocently.
"You are! Well, you're tryin' to! I know what you want, and ya ain't slick! Just cause ya not wearing a halo and wings doesn't mean I'm not onto you, ya hear me!?" The runner's clone only cocked his head to the side. "Don't gimme dat look, I know what you're tryin' ta do, you're tryin' ta make me feel bad. "Oh, boo hoo, Scout isn't bein' nice and bein' obedient, oh no!" Dat's what you sound like!" His shouts paused for a breathe, and The Scout shook his head, sighing.
"I mean, look dude," Scout gestured with both hands to the forest that was currently shimmering like heat waves, "Look what he did, man! Threw me out after pointing his freakin' rifle at my head! Who does dat? And now I don't know where da h*ll I am, where ta freakin' go, and soakin' wet!" He ran his one remaining hand through his hair, sticking it up in clumps from the dampness. "He's a jerk, just a huge jerk."
"Hm." The Scout began playing with his dog tags again, his outline shimmering like the forest. "Dat sucks. Yeah, you're right."
"I am?" The Scout looked back at him. "I mean, course I am! People don't just throw another guy out, even if dat guy was bein' kind of an *sshole. I mean, Ma had ta raise me and seven other guys even worse and she never threw us out and threatened ta kill us!"
"Yup. There was no good reason why Snipah had dat reaction. Clearly da guy's just a real piece of s**t."
"Yeah! We were freakin' drunk last night, and drunk dudes get violent and say stupid things, he should know dat."
"Totally, even if you touched him first, he didn't have ta punch you."
"Yeah."
"And even when you left him ta die, he ain't had no right ta treat you like dat."
"...yeah."
"And when ya said he deserved it, which he did cause he's an *sshole."
"...I guess…"
"And you're right."
"About what?" Scout asked. That cloud of resentment was fading from his mind, and it was like his ears popped, finally allowing him to hear the words being spoken. He was being led to something, but he was already in too deep to back up.
"About what you said to him."
"I said a lot of things ta da guy, ya gotta be more pacific."
"What you told him last night."
"Which was…?"
"Dat he should kill himself." The Scout said while examining his nails.
"What!?" Scout nearly screamed. "No! No, no way! I didn't say dat!"
"Yeah ya did," The Scout eyed him from the tree branch, "you said dat nobody would miss him if he died so why not kill himself already? Dat's what ya said."
"I didn't freakin' mean it!" Scout stood, ignoring the swaying world and beginning to pace, "Look, Snipah might be a huge d**khead and a grumpy *ss but he ain't dat bad!"
"Then why'd you say it if ya didn't mean it?"
"I don't know!" Scout exclaimed, running his hand through his strangely warm hair again, "I was mad, I guess, I just, freakin', I don't freakin' know, okay!? But I didn't mean it, I just. It hurt, man."
"What did?" The Scout had now turned to face Scout, giving the pacing runner his full attention.
"What Snipah said first, I guess. Ya know what he said, you were there! Right?" He turned to look at The Scout only to find him missing. His eyes widened. "Guy?"
"So you told him to kill himself because he said you weren't friends." Scout snapped around to see his companion leaning against a tree to his right, picking at his teeth.
"I…" Scout swallowed the nausea from turning so quickly, "I guess so."
"Oh, yeah, I can totally see why Snipah deserved ta be told dat, yup, completely deserved."
"No," The runner whined, plopping back down on the sodden earth, "he didn't, but-"
"Probably deserved ta be trapped in a alien cocoon and forced awake for over a day, right?"
"No, but-"
"And you tellin' him dat he deserved ta be trapped and awaitin' death, right?"
"NO!" Scout shouted, pulling his hair so hard he felt some rip loose, "He didn't, but I apologized for dat! I did. I… I know I did, right? I, I didn't mean dat, I didn't mean it, I was sorry. I said dat, right? I did…" It sounded more like a plea than a statement as Scout looked up at his double with yearning eyes. The double that was no longer there.
"Wha-" He started, "W-wait, what da heck, man? Where'd you go, ya, ya can't just leave me here!"
You never apologized. Came the voice both loud and quiet and it took Scout far too long to realize it was his own thoughts. You never said sorry.
"But I did…" Didn't he? Did he ever say the actual word? Even if he didn't, Sniper knew Scout wasn't serious. He would know that Scout never meant any of it, his words or his leaving. Right?
Does he? The voice asked, the tone growing bitter once more. If he did, you wouldn't be here right now.
"Well it's not my fault he don't know me dat well!" Scout retorted, biting back against that horrible wave of that horrible emotion he never knew how to deal with. "Maybe if he let me stick around long enough or hung out more before all a this-"
Are you freakin' kidding me!? It roared and Scout flinched, looking to the puddled ground. All of this is your fault and you know it! Every. Little. Thing. It's all your fault! You're da reason why you're stuck out here, why your arm's missin', why Snipah hates you and so would da others if they were still around. Everything here is what you deserve after what you did.
Scout only sat there, staring at the closest pond with an awful pressure building behind his eyes. It was murky pink from his blood and reflected white from the sky above. In the water he saw himself. Or someone that he knew was him but didn't look like it.
The Scout in the water was a far cry from what he normally looked like. It looked slimmer, the bad kind of slimmer. A horrible bruise formed on his cheek and smears of red coated the bottom half of his face. His hair, normally cut short, had grown into bundles of unruly straw, poking up from both dampness and genes. And his expression was on the brink of collapse.
Aw, ya gonna cry? Run home ta Ma and have her kiss ya booboos? Here ya are, sittin' on your worthless *ss, feelin' sorry for yourself when Snipah's been through way worse and you don't see him cryin'! Man, no wonder he doesn't think you're friends, he's right, you're an awful excuse for a human bein'. Scout tore his eyes away from his expression, and took a deep breath before letting out a defeated sigh.
"Nah, you're… you're right," Scout croaked, "I. Snipah was right, I wasn't. I wasn't thinkin', I don't. Bein' a freakin' b***h, freakin' worthless pile a s**t. 'M such a piece of ****in' s**t."
"Yup." Scout looked up to see The Scout standing there and staring at him with the same haughty look. "You're a selfish piece of s**t."
Scout could only swallow and nod. The form of his only companion left seemed wispier.
"You need ta go tell Snipah you're sorry."
"I know." Scout mumbled, looking back towards the discarded jacket. "Sides, he'll probably want dat back." The pressure behind his eyes still hasn't let up; it was starting to hurt.
"Oh come on," The Scout groaned, "quite bein' a b***h and man up! Ya only feelin' sad cause your pathetic *ss is finally gettin' what it deserves. Real men don't freakin' cry! Are you a man and gonna man up and go back there and fix all a this? Or are you just some kid who needs his Ma ta fix all his freakin' messes and lose everythin' because you're too weak ta work for what ya want?"
"'M not a kid," Scout glared, ignoring his cracking voice, "'M a man. A grown *ss man who can fix his own s**t."
"Good." The Scout nodded, still disdainful. Scout made to stand up.
His legs wouldn't work.
"Uh," he rolled onto his hand and pushed up against the ground. His legs still weren't moving. "I-I can't move."
"Seriously? Just how pathetic are you?"
"I'm not, I, it's fine, they'll move after a while, just gimme a sec." Scout said, staring wide eyed at his immobile legs.
"Yeah, sure, you're totally havin' actual trouble and not makin' excuses to avoid Snipah as long as possible."
"I AM!" Scout shouted, stoicism thrown out the window. "I can't move them! Look, just help me up, I'll be fine then! Please?" He looked up at The Scout, begging. His friend sneered.
"Help yourself, I'm done with this."
"No, wait!-"
"Bye Scout," The Scout called over his shoulder, sending one last glare to the weakened runner, "ya made this bed, now you're lyin' in it, and I'm not gonna be your bedside nurse anymore."
"Wait!" Scout shouted, pushing himself onto his knees, "Please! Ya can't just leave me here! Ya can't leave me here alone!"
But he was gone. Like a wisp of smoke, The Scout left no trail, as if he never existed at all. And the only company Scout was left with was the rhythmic water droplets.
Plip, plip, plip.
For how long exactly Scout sat there staring into the forest, he didn't know. Long enough that the clouds grew brighter as the sun rose, and the stray raindrops finally stopped dropping. All was quiet save for the runner's breathing.
He left him. He left himself. How was that possible? That- how does that work? Medic would know. Maybe Engie. But they were gone. Because of him. They wouldn't give him an answer, they would hate him. Even his own person left him because of how s**t he is. The implication wasn't a good one. In fact, it was bad. Real bad.
Scout left Scout. What did that mean? Was it him, was he still Scout if that was also Scout? Or was he no longer Scout? And if that was the case, then that meant…
Was he still human if his human self left him behind? But then-
Scout, or Maybe-Scout, forced himself to finally stand. His legs were still weak and shook as he started to pace. And he began to scratch his cheek.
The rain was gone. He didn't have the strength to give a punch to check himself. There was only one other thing to make sure he was human. Maybe-Scout scratched harder.
It was starting to hurt with heat blooming in his face. The pain shot up when Maybe-Scout felt his nails dig into his skin after a moment. And he scratched and scratched.
Yes, he was covered in blood, but it wasn't the same. Some was Sniper's, some was his but from yesterday, not from after he left himself. He needed it fresh. So when his fingers came back coated in slick crimson, Scout laughed in relief.
Humans bleed. Scout was bleeding. Scout was still human.
He watched the blood on his hand drag down from gravity and begin to form beads. Then, the red started to drip.
Plip, plip, plip.
Well, time to suck it up and head back and hopefully not get a bullet in between the eyes by a still angry Aussie. Shaking the blood away and wiping away whatever was left, Scout dragged himself over to Sniper's jacket. He paused and frowned. It probably wasn't a good idea to put it back on, no doubt it'll be freezing by now. But he couldn't wrap it around his waist or neck, he only had one-
"What da-!" Scout shrieked before stopping again. He had two hands again. He did, but now it was back to one. Just for a second. And even though it had disappeared as soon as he spotted it, Scout could still feel his hand. Okay, okay, this was getting too weird. What was in that moonshine?
The runner snatched up the hoodie, and with a reluctant face, slipped it on. Cold, yep, it was cold. Freaking great. And it still had some water dripping off of it!
Plip, plip, pl-snap!
Scout shot up, scanning the forest around him. Something made that noise that wasn't him. Unless it was him in which case Scout didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed.
"Hello?" He called, voice rough, "is dat you, dude?" No one answered, and Scout licked his lips nervously.
"Uh, well, I'm headin' back ta Snipah now so if ya could tell me da way back… dat would be…" The snapping of twigs and fallen branches responded. It came from his upper right. The runner watched the brush shimmy and twitch with an invisible lifeform. Okay, there were two things it could be. One, himself. Or two, and if it was two then Scout was about to be wrapped up in a numbing web thing-
Or it was a bunny who just decided to jump out and scare the living daylights out of him. It just stood there, sniffing the dewy ground and nibbling on some grass like it hadn't just given Scout a heart attack. He glared at it, about to shout it away, when he spotted the thing behind it.
"Guy?"
It was him again! He came back and was standing there looking at him. Scout grinned. Yeah, the guy was a jerk but at least now Scout wasn't alone anymore. The Scout was hidden in shadow, watching Scout shiver from both cold and exhaustion.
"Look, man, I'm gonna do it, but I ain't got no idea which way I freakin' came from." Scout confessed, shaking his feet out to dislodge the cold setting in. His clone didn't move, didn't speak. His silhouette was like a dark smog and Scout couldn't focus on it.
Then The Scout smiled with a grin filled with too many teeth. Teeth far too white and sharp. Like the Cheshire cat. And with that, The Counterfeit bolted into the underbrush.
"HEY!" Scout yelled, stumbling after it. It was here, he should have known it would show up. But why was it running away?
It was fast. Too fast. Scout couldn't keep up. Its legs were a blur and it vaulted over fallen logs and small ravines like nothing, leaving Scout in the dust. Meanwhile Scout was having trouble even jogging! His legs were refusing to work right, and the world just kept flickering to black the more he pushed it. Couldn't even stand upright from the blow he took last night to move faster.
Why wasn't his body working right? And why was he following this freak? Scout climbed over a particularly large log and sat panting for breath. Freakin' energy reserves were empty because of the freaking cold. Then it happened.
Scout watched as The Counterfeit stopped, shadowy form shimmering like a mirage as it turned back towards the depleted runner. It smiled again, a smile twisted with intent. Scout's eyes widened.
The thing was going back to Sniper, trying to beat him there. It turned again and ran. And Scout, digging into all the energy he had left, leapt from the log and ran.
His legs thundered against the ground, each impact sending small shockwaves through his bones. First he stumbled, then his pattern began to form until Scout was flying through the trees, weaving in and out with precision. Slippery moss coated his shoes and would cause him to falter. But he never fell.
The creature was still ahead, and when winding in and out of the trees, would evaporate until Scout would blink moments later and it would return, closer than before. It jumped, Scout would jump. It went left, Scout went left. It slid down a small slope, so would Scout. It was a race. And he never lost races.
Faster and faster the plants flew by, and Scout's lungs were threatening to explode from usage. But that thing was still ahead, taunting. Freaking taunting him and he was still behind. He growled and somehow the trees went past even faster.
And Scout couldn't break in time when a cliff emerged from the underbrush.
Shouting in surprise, he dug his heels into the dirt to find it did nothing. He flew over the edge, screaming, and twisted to see The Counterfeit stand on the ledge watching him fall. The impact of the slope knocked the wind out of him and he rolled down the rocky landslide. The world spun, and sharp cropping's of earth jutted into his back. And finally, after far too long, the land evened out and Scout landed in a soft grove of ferns.
"...ow." Scout whined, waiting for the spiraling sky to slow, "ow, owowowowowahhhhhhhh man dat hurts." Why did this keep happening? First the staircases, now a freaking cliff? How many more things is he going to fall down? At least it didn't kill him.
Scout looked up towards the ledge he fell from. It was only twenty feet high and not a sheer cliff face, still dangerous but not an instant killer. And there was something else. The Counterfeit was gone. Not gone as in out of sight and coming back, but gone-gone. It peaced out, leaving behind nothing but empty air, not even a small tumble of dirt to show it was ever there. There was nothing to prove him right, but Scout knew it was gone. He could feel it deep down, it wasn't coming back.
Maybe it wasn't even The Counterfeit. Maybe there was never anything at all. But there was something, something that made Scout grin.
To his left, about fifteen feet away and cutting through the forest floor, was the old gravel road. Scout finally knew where he was and where to go.
He got to his feet, a challenge that shouldn't have been as hard as it was. But it was, and when Scout did stand up, it felt like he got hit by a freight train. Bruises, cuts, everything everywhere and his head was acting up again. Or it was acting up this whole time. Didn't feel like it.
Scout stumbled over to the road. Alright, he came from the right so he had to go left. The crackle of sparse gravel underfoot was far more comforting than it would be to other people, but he was Scout, and it had been too d*mn quiet for too d*mn long! Crunching away, Scout limped down the road, eyes peeled for a camper van with a grouchy sharpshooter along with it. Right, Sniper, ohh boy.
"Okay, da guy's reasonable. He'll listen, just be honest," Scout said to himself, eyes darting around the woods, "just gotta think of an apology dat'll blow his freakin' mind because of how genuine it is and then he'll forgive ya, and we can go back ta bein'... whatever we were before cause he don't see ya as a friend.
"Which is… fair. It's, it's fair, ya can't just demand people like ya, even if you're super cool and awesome, mosta da time. But ya were actin' like a jerk so ya gotta not act like a jerk and just say dat you're sorry, not dat hard." He reassured as he kept walking up the deserted road. Still no sign of Sniper. "Sides, chicks love it when guys get all mushy and sorry and crap. 'Cept Snipah is also a guy, and he doesn't get all mushy. Probably hates it so you should probably save dat for a rainy day. Best ta be straightforward, blunt, and put all da cards on da table ta show ya mean it. But not da emotional cards!" The road looked more familiar and Scout could swear that in the distance he could hear traffic from the highway. "Yeah, keep da emotional cards, if ya don't he'll think you're just tryin' ta get pity points and hate ya even more. But ya can't be too dull because then it'll seem like ya ain't bein' genuine and hate ya even more. Aw man, why do sorrys gotta be so freakin' complicated? I just gotta say it," Scout took a deep breath, "Snipah, I'm so-"
He reached the highway. Cars were driving past, speeding by and sparse while Scout stood from the sidelines and watched with wide eyes and agape mouth. He looked back towards the road, empty of any camper or Sniper. Had… had he gone the wrong way? Here was the highway, and behind him was the dirt road, so… where did they park last night?
Scout jogged back down the road, going back as far as he could before he had to sit and take a rest. He ran back up, eyes on the sides of the path and looking for any tire tracks. Then, after ten minutes of backtracking his backtracking, Scout stopped, staring at something off of the road.
About twelve feet from the path sat the remains of a campfire and a brown bottle still stuck in the mud. It was here, and Scout could see the ferns he ripped up when running away, but there was no van and no Sniper. He looked down to find the faintest bumps in the soft earth.
Tire tracks.
Sniper was gone, and it suddenly felt so much harder to breathe.
Hello, remember when I said this chapter would be out later than normal? Well I guess I accidentally lied. It's shorter than the last few but I think it's better to have chapters that are only filled with the things it needs rather than bloating it with unnecessary garble. Also, SAXTON HAAAAALE! That scene was fun to write. If this chapter seems confusing, don't worry, you're not crazy(or are you?), things will be explained in later chapters. Also also, I am one of those kinds of people who listen to songs and relate them back to story ideas. And there's this one song called Little Pistol by Mother Mother and I think it fits Scout's character and arc in my story amazingly. So give it a listen if you want and maybe you'll see why I think it fits so well. Anyway, peace!
