This chapter is going to be in two parts because there was too much stuff I had to add for just one chapter. The second part isn't going to be as long as this part so it shouldn't be too long before I post it. In the meantime, enjoy what I got written after nearly two months of work. I hope it's up to the same quality as my other chapters, I'm always paranoid that I'm losing my touch with each chapter or just post it too quickly and leave too many errors.
Scout woke up gasping for air the second time that night. The silent interior of the RV was only combated by the muffled heaves of the runner as he drank in the oxygen around him. It still wasn't enough.
With a trembling hand, Scout pulled at the collar of his shirt and wiped away the sheen of cold sweat built up on his forehead. Slowly, really slowly, his pulse slowed and he was able to take in actual breaths. And finally, he could bring himself to sit up in the pitch black van.
It was near silent within the small space. Besides the runner's own gulps of air, the only other sound was the low drone of the night time wind brushing up against the van's thin walls. So the sound wasn't why Scout had woken up gasping. Nor light as he could only just make out the outline of his hand waving back and forth in the deep dark. It was something else.
Scout pulled his thin excuse of a blanket around his still trembling shoulders. It did a horrible job of trapping heat in but he wasn't about to go complaining about that to Sniper, who was still fast asleep if the quiet was anything to go on. And waking him up just to ask for another blanket or, if he wanted a shallow grave, ask to share the bed to stay warm was just going to send Scout dropping through the thin ice he was still trapped on. Sneaking into the bunk for what would be the third night in a row would not only be embarrassing, but stupid! He sniffed, and blinked, before scratching at his arm.
It was too cold, it was too quiet. He couldn't sleep like this. There had to be some kind of noise or some body nearby for Scout to nod off. Yeah, it was pathetic but he was tired and wanted to make the aching chills crawling up his legs and spine stop. Anything like the distant hum of machinery down in Engineer's workshop, or the muffled singing of foreign songs from Heavy or Demo. Occasionally, the strings of Medic playing his violin would reach Scout's dorm, creating a sweet tune to fall asleep to. And Soldier would barge into the dorms to wake everyone up on Thursday mornings and they'd all go down and have breakfast as he and Soldier argue over the stupidest s**t and…
And they go on missions, steal Intelligence, capture points and push big*ss bombs and somehow survive through it all. Going to bars, having campfires, showing off their new battle scars, fighting stupid wizards and floating haunted eyes. And- and Engie and Demo being cool enough to try and help Scout read at any level higher than a preschooler. And Heavy being a freaking psychic cause he always made an extra sandwich for Scout whenever he had real bad days, even secret ones. And him, Soldier, and Pyro playing RocketBall which always ended with one of them in the infirmary. Even Spy taught him how to tie a tie when he wanted to treat his ma during their first real vacation.
But now it was quiet. And that quiet was starting to seem permanent. Sniper sure believed it was permanent.
Never even got to know their real names.
It took several moments for Scout to sneak in a breath from how tight his throat had gotten.
He swallowed back the painful pressure and looked around, trying to ignore how rough the blanket felt against his gooseflesh arms. There was no clock, and he didn't know where Sniper kept his wristwatch. The night was at a standstill, frozen in time. And frozen was a perfect description as he was still super cold.
No, not cold cold but, it was that itchy, achy kind of cold. The kind that gives you shakes and tremors occasionally, and makes you get goosebumps whenever something touches your bare skin. Everything was cold and he wasn't getting any warmer.
Was that what had woken him up? Maybe it was, all Scout knew was that one moment he was in bed and the next he was still in bed but shaking like a little kid. No, there was something else, something worse because he'd slept through quiet before, he slept through cold before, it had to be different.
He scratched his stomach before a powerful yawn ripped through his system. It made his eyes water and Scout felt his jaw stretch further and further, bordering on dislocation-
The force at which the runner clamped his mouth shut was enough to hurt his teeth and create an audible sharp click. Pulse rising, and that swirling, nauseating worming feeling shot up to the surface. Deep in his core, writhing and twisting itself throughout his limbs and organs.
Scout remembered why he woke up.
Stumbling off from his cot and detangling himself from the blanket, Scout stood and spun around, eyes darting around the darkness. Water, water, anything! It was cold, it was itchy, everything was bad and wrong! And he didn't want to go out again!
Scout dropped back onto the bed after his head went light and dizzy. All of this… All of this. It wasn't true, he was okay. His mind was just playing dumb*ss tricks on him. He was fine, he was okay, he was in a safe, confined space with the one other survivor who now knew how to take care of that thing. That monster hadn't shown its face for days.
Or he was getting sloppy. Not watching for the signs, too focused on getting into Sniper good graces again to notice if they were still being followed. Scout hadn't been paying attention at all.
There had been no rain for days.
Any and all attempts Scout made to calm himself down were in vain. He wasn't okay, he wasn't okay, of course he wasn't okay and maybe that was what he deserved because, yeah, Scout ditched his teammate and maybe this was karma for that and everything else he did beforehand and everything after. But maybe he was okay? Maybe, just maybe?
Where was the Kukri?
The panicking runner got to his feet before he dropped again after his limbs grew exhausted almost instantly. His legs were dead weights and his stomach was twisting itself up in knots. It all felt bad, gross. He hated this.
Scout hated this so freaking much.
And he wasn't getting better, who was he fooling? Grabbing the edges of the bed, the runner forced himself to stand. On shaking feet, Scout stumbled towards the door. But if there was just a chance that it was working, even just making sure that he wasn't getting worse, and that they were still alright, wasn't it worth a shot? A strange ringing filled his ears when he reached the door and something… something else, he didn't feel right.
It was hard to think right too. Because he wanted to crawl right back into bed and just ignore everything, pretend he was okay. Just build up enough, what was the word, the word, the.
He groaned as another wave of vertigo forced him to lean against the van wall. The surface was freezing and clung to his skin as the blanket had slipped off moments ago. A tremor shot through the runner.
Where was the Kukri? Scout didn't want to go outside anymore. It was colder, darker, and open to anything. He'd be a sitting duck. Besides, only a scratch, he only needed a scratch. A scratch was better than being a freaking monster. A scratch was better than…
He turned to look at presumably where Sniper was still sleeping. Although he couldn't see him, Scout knew he was still there, and probably still sleeping, and hopefully not awake and looking back at him because that would be freaking creepy because he couldn't see s**t in the dark.
Just a scratch.
After some blind grabs, Scout's hand closed around the knife's handle and he unlatched it from its hook. It was lighter than it looked. He yawned and ended up biting his tongue.
Just a scratch.
He used the blade to lift up his shirt, the cold metal sending shivers down his spine.
Just a…
A scratch.
"Scout, whoi are you awake at this bloody hour?"
The runner's silhouette went still and Sniper had to wonder if the kid had heard him or if he had sleepwalked himself into a corner. But when he went to call again, Scout's head turned to face him. He had to assume at least, it was really dark.
"did I wake ya?..." The voice was the sound of dead reeds scraping together in a faint wind.
"Uh- no, no ya didn't, it jus'," Sniper scrubbed his face with a hand, dislodging some very stubborn sleep slowness. "It jus' happened." There was no nasty dream he could remember for the reason or sound or light. Just waking up to nothing but a silent Scout standing in a corner like a statue which would have given him a heart attack if he wasn't so bloody tired.
"Whoi are ya up, mate?"
"I couldn't fall back asleep." Scout replied. "So I just got tired of waitin' for morning to come."
"So were you going outside to meet it halfway?" Sniper joked. Scout didn't respond. Not really. The runner did some strange half shoulder shrug before shuffling over to his cot, hunched over with both arms wrapped around his middle. Sniper almost asked if he was alright but stopped before the words were thought. What would asking do for someone like Scout, tired or not? Besides, the younger man made it clear days ago that he didn't want any questions. And that was fine, Sniper didn't like asking or being asked many questions either.
Scout had gone so long without a peep that Sniper was starting to believe the kid was asleep. As Sniper himself settled back down himself, he heard a faint rasp.
"How long before we reach Sawmill?" The marksman paused, staring up at the ceiling.
"We'll be there by tomorrow if the driving's good enough."
"okay."
…
"Hey, Snipah?"
"Hm?"
"What's your name?" Sniper turned his head to meet Scout's gaze.
"Whoi do ya want to know that?"
"Because…" Scout shifted and sat up, still hunched over, "if anything happens… like at Landfall, and nobody comes lookin'. Well, we got names and… s**t, I don't wanna just be known as a freakin' scout, man. And I don't think you'd want ta be known as just a sniper, too, y'know what I'm gettin' at?"
"Nothing's going to happen to us at Sawmill, Scout. Oi'll make sure of it." The runner didn't respond right away. Instead, he sat quietly, staring, before a light shake of his head. "Oi can't promise it, but Oi'll do moi d*mn best to make sure another Landfall doesn't happen, as long as you do too."
"...Dat was freakin' cheesy," Sigh, "but yeah. Okay, I… yeah."
The camper went quiet, quiet enough to hear the wind bend the trees outside. Although the van was quite chilly, the fuzzy warmth of his bed was making it harder and harder for Sniper to keep his eyes open. He rolled back onto his side, intending to fall back asleep.
"I'm Jay." Sniper turned back towards Scout, who was fiddling with his blanket.
"Oi thought your name was Jeremy?"
"Well, yeah, it is, but only family calls me dat. Y'know, like a- wait, how'd you know what my name is?"
Spy.
"Medic."
"Dat sonovab***h," Scout growled, "He freakin' promised dat stuff was "patient doctor con-fid-dental" crap!"
"So it's Jay?"
"Uh- yeah. Yeah, it's Jay." Sniper hummed before shimmying down into his bed.
"...Mick."
"Wh-" Scout was sent into a coughing fit, "wha- whaddiya say?"
"Mick. You asked whot moi name is. It's Mick."
"Oh. Mick, huh? I got a cousin named Mickey, is it short for something?"
"No," Sniper said, "jus' Mick."
A pause.
"Go to sleep, Scout, can't have you crashing on me tomorrow." He said.
"Right… G'night, Mick." And that was the last thing Scout said before he fell silent once more. Sniper was soon to follow, eyes drifting towards his crooked Kukri hanging off its hook before the peaceful dark took its place.
Gray industries technically didn't exist. There were no records of creation or logs in any local government archives of its whereabouts or even purchases of land by anything close to a Gray Industries. That itself wasn't too bad. In fact, Miss Pauling still found a branch of the company simply through very thorough searching and word of mouth. No, the real red flag was that Gray Industries wasn't on record for federal taxes and tax brackets. Nobody escapes the IRS, not even The Administrator herself, a woman whose body count filled cave systems. There was a reason the great Al Capone was only taken down by the Internal Revenue Service. So to know that this elusive Gray Industries was not only off the grid but also on a permanent tax break gave Miss Pauling more than enough reason to pack both a bullet proof vest and a hidden Makarov Pistol hoisted on her thigh.
It was a two day drive to this reclusive town smack dab in the middle of the mountain ranges of Wyoming, and another to the ominous square building the local townspeople talked about. It was built in secret apparently, they said, considering no one knew when it was built exactly but that it just showed up one day. A large tower made of gray brick and mortar with thick double doors for the entrance. No one ever entered or exited. It was as if it sprouted straight from the ground. In fact, nobody would have known about it if it wasn't for the fact that a local recluse had gone camping and stumbled across the structure by pure happenstance.
Miss Pauling could see why. It was impossible to drive up to the building. There were no roads or smooth inclines carved into the mountain face, clearly to ward off weaker men. She had to hire a guide and proper hiking equipment just to approach the structure. The man was quiet and spoke only when she asked questions, which were few, and to point out more hidden hazards on their journey.
She hoped he had enough sense to leave when she asked so that she wouldn't have to dig a grave in the hard mountain earth.
Her feet were about to fall off when they finally reached their destination. There also appeared to be several small stones that had made their way into her shoes somehow. As the ground evened out, Miss Pauling caught her first look at the mysterious structure that had caused so much mayhem.
It was tall and generic. No signs, no parking lot, no windows, the only thing of note was an empty helipad to the back of the building. There weren't even any security cameras from what Miss Pauling could tell.
"Well, this is it." her guide said, staring up at the building like the sore thumb that it was, "ugly thang, ain't it?" She didn't disagree, "You sure you can make it back by yourself?"
"Oh yes, I'm certain," Miss Pauling reassured, "thank you for all your help but I'll take it from here."
"Right, take care." He raised a hand in farewell before heading back down the narrow trail towards the secluded town.
Miss Pauling watched him until he was past her line of sight, and when he didn't return, she hitched the large backpack up and marched towards the gray obelisk. The closer she got, the more it engulfed her with its shadow. It was already late afternoon by the time she arrived so the light was already seeping away from the world.
Metal and towering over the five foot two inch woman, the doors stood at attention untouched and closed. There was a mechanical locking mechanism, one that had no keyhole to lockpick or keypad to cheese. She wasn't sure how to unlock it and her schedule was already tight.
C4 it was.
The explosion was small and compressed against the heavy doors, blowing them in and sending them falling like Jericho upon the floor. As the dust settled, Miss Pauling swept the area with her PM. Nothing alive, nothing moving. Clear. She straightened up and swept around the building once again, taking in the detail.
The lights were still on. Deep gray tiles lined the floors along the white sterile walls. Desks, filing cabinets, and office chairs were organized into rows and columns, perfectly spaced between each other. Papers were spread across the gray wooden desks haphazardly and her urge to organize them rose up. How was it that out of everything in the expansive floor plan, the papers, arguably the most important thing, were strewn about without care. Nothing else looked remotely used or touched. Perhaps it was to look lived in, like if someone were to, hypothetically, blow in the doors Demoman style looking for clues on some mysterious goings on, this would just look like an average programming office or company building. Maybe it would have fooled somebody if the chairs weren't so neatly placed.
After putting away her pistol, Miss Pauling snatched a paper off the nearest desk. A quick scan and she tossed it aside, watching it float to the ground. If that one was anything to go by, then the rest would be reports about weather readings near the Panama Canal. Pointless, a distraction.
There were two other floors besides the first. Though if you went through one you went through all. They were all near mirror images of the last, and Miss Pauling checked. Repeatedly. From the boring single colored paintings hanging on the otherwise barren walls(take a guess as to which color), to the papers all being the same copy of Panama canals and tropical rains.
Another thirty minutes of searching and morale was on the floor and digging. There was nothing to show for her due diligence. Snatching up another copy of Panama Canals, Miss Pauling crumpled it into a ball and lobbed it at the closest wall. It fell pitifully to the ground three feet away. Stupid lightweight papers.
What if all of this was just a red herring? No, no, there had to be something! She had never failed an assignment from The Administrator before and she wasn't about to start now. Miss Pauling stretched, feeling her back pop, and remade her hair. Some strands just never stayed put. After making sure that not a single strand was out of place, Miss Pauling climbed on top of one of the desks. Perhaps all she needed was a new perspective.
From her new height, the assistant scanned the floor, leaving no pencil or dust bunny unturned from her hawkish gaze. Nothing new to see if one wasn't trained to spot even the smallest of details. Miss Pauling hopped off from the desk and towards the three by three square of floor tiles near the back of the room. When she knelt down, her suspicions were met. The thin lines separating each tile from it's brother were filled with mortar, all except the three by three square that went far deeper. And when she placed her fingers along the crease, a chillness met her touch.
There was something below the building. But how to access it?
Getting to her feet, Miss Pauling began her search around once again, this time looking for anything that might be a lever, button, or keypad. Still just as barren with the only numbers to be found were on the small filing cabinets placed beneath the desks. She bent down to get a better look at one. There were four drawers labeled zero through three. The next had them labeled the same with the painted numbers slightly more worn. Another search around the building left Miss Pauling with no clues once more. She sighed, and took off her glasses to polish them.
"There has to be something." She reiterated to herself. There had to be something, she just wasn't looking hard enough. Sighing again, she began to pace around the floor. The entrance had to be remote controlled, most certainly through a subtle code or perhaps sound key. The question remained if there had to be multiple people in order to open it or just one. Multiple had a higher security rate but in case of emergencies, it was a hindrance, while a single person able to open the door would be riskier but better in terms of utility. But what was the key? And the keyhole? A doorway with neither but still possessing a lock was a puzzle that usually sparked joy in Miss Pauling. But this time she was in a hurry, and this wasn't exactly a jigsaw puzzle.
She plopped into a chair and rubbed her eyes. What was she missing? Opening them, Miss Pauling let them wander the gray room. Gray was the only way to describe the place. The color itself was quite pleasant, in fact, it was her second favorite color, just not this shade. It was bland, drab, no life, the perfect mix of black and white. Solid gray "paintings", solid gray floors, solid gray cabinets, solid gray desks with little numbers on the corners labeled from one to thirty. She paused. And looked at the desk's number she sat at.
No. Eight.
Miss Pauling leaned down to look at the filing cabinets numbers engraved on the small buttons used to unlock the drawers. Zero, one, two, three. It was a strange detail to mark the drawers starting from zero instead of one considering there were four drawers. She ran her slender fingers over the first button and pressed.
The drawer didn't open.
The color gray was a very prominent theme, so prominent that this building was owned by a Gray Industries. She sat at a desk marked eight and it's filing cabinet had a zero.
Without a second thought, Miss Pauling pressed the zero latch twice more.
For a discouraging few seconds, nothing happened. But then the low grinding drone met her ears. Miss Pauling shot to her feet as the ground began to rumble and the square of unusual tiles began to rise. The creaking of gears and huffing of pistons were swallowed by a shrill hiss of air as an elevator rose from the floor and opened its rickety gates for passageway.
The assistant stared at the new obelisk, both feeling justifiably triumphant, dumbfounded, and wary. The elevator looked like the kind found in the towering skyscrapers of Mann Co., both a marvel of engineering and a shaky old mess. There was only one small light fixture on the left wall; dim and flickering slightly with a yellow glow. Hitching her backpack up, Miss Pauling stepped into the elevator. Beneath her feet, the floor shook as her weight was added. She reached out and grabbed a railing.
There was a strange smell when she entered. Just a hint of something slightly citrusy. And something else she couldn't place. But it was familiar enough to Miss Pauling that she instinctively whipped out her Makarov.
On the wall stood only two buttons: Up and Down. She reached out and pressed the down button. With a woeful creak, the gate was shut, the floor trembled and hitched before Miss Pauling began her descent in the dark earth.
"Look, just, freakin', aw mother-"
"You don't need that.-"
"Go ta h*ll, I need what I want!" Scout shouted back with a voice like sandpaper and with teeth clamped around the bandages being tied around his arm and spiked club. Trying to tie was a more accurate statement given that Sniper had been watching the runner battle with his weapon extension for a good six minutes now. He checked his watch. Yup, 5:34, about seven minutes now.
The pair had taken every necessary precaution and packed as such. They both had backpacks full of the remaining health kits, some food, water(lots and lots of water by Scout's request), torches, and jackets along with other basic survival necessities. And weapons, of course. But apparently ranged weapons weren't enough for the Bostonian.
"So you're dead set on taking that thing with us?" Sniper asked.
"Yish!" Scout pulled his head away, tightening the knot. When he released, the knot took about five seconds before breaking, a new record. "Oh **** off with this s**t!"
"Oh jus' let me do it!" He grabbed the runner's arm, earning a hearty yelp, "well that wouldn't have happened if you weren't so bloody stubborn."
"Ey, **** you, this's actually lightweight, unlike dat freakin' steel beam of a rifle!"
"Then you should have grabbed a different rifle besides the Machina, huh?"
"Screw you and your stupid sniper crap." The last word lost its bite as Sniper's handiwork was tightened beyond belief.
"There, now, can we get going?" He asked, exacerbated. Scout lifted his basher, testing it out, before giving it a wide and fast swing. "Crickey, give us a bloody warning before swinging that club!"
"Nah, it keeps ya on your toes."
"Fine, let yourself get hit in the gut, Oi don't care whot ya do with your own stupid stuff and Oi care even less if you're the one dealing with the painful aftermath but can we get going now!?"
"UGH, FINE!" Scout groaned, shoving past Sniper and out the camper's door.
"It's not like Oi'm having a bloody party moiself," Sniper muttered, grabbing his backpack and Scout's seeing as the kid left his behind. He couldn't fully blame Scout for being irritable. Being cooped up in a van knowing that you'd have to explore a tomb once the van stopped would make anyone tense. He wasn't an exception.
After double checking their supplies and making sure they had everything needed, Sniper followed afterwards, locking the door behind him, and glared up at the rain clouds above.
Sawmill was just as gloomy as when they left it albeit less wet than normal. The gravel roads crunched underfoot and the gray swathes of clouds and trees ran for miles around them. Tiny specks of water danced along the marksman's arms, sending sharp pricks of cold through his nerves. A chill wind whispered in his ears and among the creaking pines and firs. And standing in silent sigil over the serene forested land, their old, debilitating base rose above the pair as a monument to a past better left forgotten.
From here, Sniper could see the damage left by the Counterfeit's attack, further pushed by the forces of nature. Walls were broken with splintering holes, the roof seemingly collapsing under its own weight, and his once proud nest lay in absolute ruin. Just to be within the ruins of the once proud BLU base brought a tension Sniper couldn't easily brush aside.
Like the building itself was staring right back at him.
"This is a bad idea," Scout's voice cut through the silent stalemate, "We shouldn't have come back here, man. This is a real bad idea, like, one of da worst."
"Shush," Sniper ordered.
"Mic-"
"Oi said shush." A warm gust brushed past his cheek as the marksman turned to his companion. The runner's eyes darted across the forests, looking everywhere and at everything, all the while holding his club with a white knuckled grip.
"We aren't going to stay." Sniper explained, snatching up Scout's attention, "Whot we are going to do is find the doc's Medigun, contact someone, anyone, in the higher ups and let them know everything, and where to rondeau. That's it."
"...Pretty sure Thunder Mountain is only a day or two away-"
"Oh for crying out loud, Scout-"
"I don't wanna go back in there!" Scout shouted above the gusts of wind.
"We have too, it's been nearly three weeks since we've basically gone AWOL and for all we know, they've pronounced to the world that we're Missing in Action or legally dead."
"No they wouldn't, I literally called my family earlier!"
""Earlier", right. And how many days ago does "earlier" cover?" Scout kicked some gravel around.
"Three, but still-"
"That's still three days without contact with anyone, and a lot of s**t in less than one, so if you don't mind, Oi'd like to get this over with before long." And with that, Sniper turned and made towards the base.
"Hey wait!" Scout shot forwards and grabbed Sniper's shirt, pulling the marksman back, "hey, c'mon, let's just think about this!"
"Think? That'd be a first for ya."
"Snipah, I'm serious."
"Okay, okay," Sniper stopped and looked down at his partner, "Whot is your main issue with being here besides it?" A hundred emotions flashed across the runner's face and thousand more through his maelstrom eyes. And yet Scout remained silent, more interested in the jacket Sniper gave him than an answer.
"Oi need an answer to understand ya, Scout. Oi ain't a mind reader."
"It's just," Scout blurted out until he seemed to get caught on his own words and floundered. "It's not da freakin'- not just It, but, but I-" He stopped and stared at the world around them as a soft breeze ruffled his hair.
"...you wouldn't get it, man. We all thought you were killed first, you weren't there." The pair were silent for a time as the oldest stood as still as a tree while the youngest fidgeted and shifted about. And the longer time passed in silence, the more Scout twitched and swayed, staring at everything but Sniper.
"I don't wanna go back in there." Finally, Sniper responded. The marksman sighed and ran a hand down his face, looking to the side.
"Yeah, you're right," he began, "Oi wasn't there. That's whoi Oi need you to come with me, because you were. You're the one who remembers whot went down and where everything would be, like the Doc's medigun."
"I mean, not really…"
"Ya can't remember anything?"
"Well, no, but, just- just, I don't remember, uh, y'know, uh, specific things. Not- not dat my memory sucks, actually it's pretty good it's just this one thing, y'know, cause, uh, my head got pretty knocked up when I was, was caught. By, y'know, so nope, nothing, no idea on what went down or where things are, yeah-"
"Scout." Scout's ramblings came to a screeching halt. Sniper stared him down.
"You're certain that you don't remember anything?" He asked. Scout opened his mouth to speak, paused, and began to fidget.
"...no, I… I really don't." The runner didn't meet Sniper's eyes. The sharpshooter took a deep breath and let out a silent sigh.
"Awright. You can stay out here, ya don't have to come with me."
"Wait, what?"
"But Oi'm still going. 'M not going to force you to come along, but Oi'm going. Won't take too long, just a couple hours at most."
"But what if somethin' happens ta ya?"
"We're professional mercenaries, Oi think Oi'll be alright. Besides, It hasn't shown its face for days, for all we know it's still in Landfall. Only a couple hours, Oi'll be back." He ended their conversation with a nod before turning and heading towards the base. Not before catching the distraught look on Scout's face.
As he reached the threshold and made to enter, the crunch of gravel underfoot met his ears. When he looked to his right, there stood Scout, fist clenched and glaring at the ground.
"It's a stupid freakin' idea ta split up, thought you'd realized dat by now." He grumbled. Sniper remained quiet as his companion continued. "Sides, two people lookin' around is better than one."
"Thought you said you didn't remember where anything was." Sniper pointed out.
"Yeah, well maybe this'll jog my memory. Get it? Jogging? Anyways let's get this over with before ya catch a cold out here, old man." Scout marched into the base, leaving the heavy doors open.
A smile found itself on Sniper's face before he too entered.
The chill scent of rain and wood mold greeted the two mercenaries at the entrance to Sawmill. Cold moisture dripped from the ceiling, glinting white in their torch beams. The deep blue failsafe lights had died long ago, leaving a shadow infested compound filled no doubt with rats and other disgusting lifeforms. But beyond all that, the base looked to be the same from when they left.
Sniper scanned the expansive hall with his torch, it's pale glow cutting into the dark. The floor had flooded. The walls were still broken and falling apart. And hidden beneath the murky water's surface were bullet casings.
"Holy crap, this place went ta s**t." Scout breathed as he took a step into the waterlogged building. Then he jumped back, shaking the dirty water off his foot and cursing.
"Holy crap, dat's freezin'!"
"Shush." Sniper advised. "Don't need to talk so loud."
"Yeah, okay," Scout said in a noticeably quieter voice, "not like there's anythin' else here, right? Cause da only reason you'd want ta be quiet is dat you think something else is here dat might hear us and find us-"
"Or," Sniper interrupted, "we should be quiet so that the bloody building doesn't collapse on top of us."
"This thing's been around for centuries, ain't no way it's dat run down!"
"Shush!"
"You shush!" That earned a hearty smack upside Scout's head. "Ow!"
"How many times do Oi have to tell you to shut up-" The sharpshooter's rant was killed prematurely when a deep drone flooded the air and echoed down the deadened halls. Neither spoke and the weight of their reality came crawling back.
"Uh, so, wh- what're we lookin' for exactly?
"Medigun and anything to communicate with the higher ups." Sniper responded, voice deep from his quiet tone, "we should also find you some of your own clothes. More ammo would be good too."
"Yeah, okay, okay." Scout shimmied deeper into his grey jacket, eyes darting along the walls. They had to move and search the base in order to get what they wanted, but still neither moved. Sniper was looking at everything and anything, nothing escaping his hawk-like eyes. Scout stood incredibly still, listening and looking along the water covered floor. If Scout felt it, he didn't say anything. Neither did Sniper, but there was something. Just a flash of wariness. Like they were being… observed.
A moment passed, then another, and a few more before the marksman took a step and began his march through the chilling lake. The runner was less than a second behind, sending ripples throughout the empty base. Pant legs soaked and ears perked, the pair crept deeper into Sawmill.
The elevator had been descending for a good while now and while Miss Pauling wasn't necessarily scared of getting stuck in it, the way it would sometimes hitch and creak beneath her feet wasn't the most reassuring thing in the world. But it never stopped.
It had to have been a good five minutes since she first stepped into the lift and so far it still showed no signs of stopping.
Until it did.
With a teeth grinding shriek of metal, the elevator came to a jolting halt. Then silence. Regaining her balance from the sudden stop, Miss Pauling hitched her satchel up and slipped out her pistol. Beyond the steel gate was only darkness. The perfect cover. She took a deep breath, straightened up, and watched as the gate fluttered open. And as she stepped into the shadows, a wretched smell greeted her.
The pistol clattered to the floor as Miss Pauling brought her hands up to block the odor. That overpowering smell of rot and curdled milk. Her hands weren't enough to keep herself from dry heaving. It was awful! She couldn't see anything from how watery her eyes became. Coughing and sputtering, the assistant swung off her bag and scrambled to find something within it. She gagged again. And thankfully, her hand clamped over some fabric.
Using mostly muscle memory, she wrapped the black mask around her mouth and nose, tightening it to keep out any more of that awful smell. It wasn't even the curled milk smell, it was the one lying underneath. Just scratching at the surface, the familiar scent Miss Pauling had grown so accustomed to over the years. That rot. The decay. She didn't even have to turn on her pistol's light to know what she would find down here. Speaking of her weapon, Miss Pauling snatched the pistol up after wiping away the water lining her vision. A small click of a switch and a narrow beam of white light burst to life.
As she swept the dark with her weapon's flashlight, a picture started forming. And it wasn't a pretty one. The overhead lamps were dead and/or broken. Along the walls and floor were deep gouges into the grey tiles, some obviously made from human nails. And there was a deep rust brown scattered about: small spots along the ground and walls, short smears made by either hands or shoes, and there was a one long, thick, trail that appeared like a red carpet rolled out to welcome Miss Pauling to the facility.
There were no glowing strings.
She reached down to grab her bag and swung it back onto her shoulders. After making sure it was secure, Miss Pauling slunk deeper into the mysterious compound. The PM in her hand was kept in an ironclad grip.
The further she went, the tighter her grip became. Whatever facility this was was a stark difference from what she found above ground. Above was clean, monotone, and organized. This appeared to be chaos incarnate. Blood with no bodies, Citrus and curled milk with no glowing webs, nothing and everything at the same time. She hated missing puzzle pieces.
But perhaps she would find some answers by following the arrows painted on the walls. Miss Pauling stepped to the closest sign. While she could make out some letters, most of the legibility was smeared with a large blood stain. And bullet holes. Reaching up, she wiped away some of the crimson. Then cursed. She forgot that she wasn't wearing gloves. Oh well. Wiping her hand on her dress, Miss Pauling read the words she had cleared.
Test Chambers: Left
Genomics and Splicing: Left
Logs and Anatomy: Right
Histology: Right
Wait, what? Biological studies. But what is Splicing? It doesn't matter, Miss Pauling needed information, and she would find that, presumably, in the Logs. She headed right, turned a corner,
Bang! Heart racing, hand trembling, Miss Pauling lowered her pistol and took her finger off the now used trigger. The person at the far end of the hall was long since dead if the smell was anything to go by. They sat there wearing a deep blue, now brown, security suit, slouching, and barely able to stay upright. And as Miss Pauling got closer after securing the surrounding doors and small labs, she could see why. Her blood ran cold.
The body was rotting. Flies danced about, laying their eggs into the leaking flesh. A pool of deep rich red surrounded the floor and man. No doubt it was caused by the gaping hole torn into his stomach. The few intestines slipping out were shriveled up, and there was more flesh that looked more like a large tumor spilling out of the man's ruptured stomach. And when Miss Pauling leaned over to see his face, the gross sight of a dislocated jaw hanging off its hinge made her feel sick.
She'd seen bodies before, ones in even worse states than this one. But the thing is,
Miss Pauling never saw one whose middle was torn open from the inside out.
Steeling her nerves, Miss Pauling stood and made towards what she hoped was the archives. Past the body, past the scratched up walls and bloodied floors. Past the bullet casings, past the torn clothing, past busted doors leading into small rooms of destruction. Some were barricaded by thrown furniture, some doors stood locked when she tried them, others were across the halls, broken and beaten down. Still, there were no other bodies to be found.
What she did find was a staircase and a large, large room. It was no doubt a laboratory floor if the desks thrown against the walls were anything to go by. Some overhead lamps had their wires exposed, flickering and sparking, sending small embers falling to the ground. Along the ground were the same staples as before: blood, bullets, and some broken glass. And in the middle of the floor, was the staircase descending further into the earth.
And growing like roots into the dark hole were the pale nerves crisscrossing like a spider's web. Bingo. Making her way into the room, sweeping every nook and cranny with her Makarov, Miss Pauling spared a look at the debris coating the tiled floor. Among the biomaterials and shards, there were papers. Some were stained, others trampled, ripped, and crumpled beyond recognition. But some were legible. And she snatched up the first one with an untainted page. It appeared to be a memo of sorts.
Heron,
The shipments of Thaumoctopus Mimicus tissue has once again been delayed along with the Ctenizidae DNA. Need I remind you that our deadline for something more than theoretical results is fast approaching, and should another delay be enacted, our funding will be cut.
As the Head Director, that failure will fall on your shoulders. And I doubt you need reminding of the man our backer is.
I will expect those shipments on the front desk of my department Saturday afternoon.
Miss Pauling folded the paper and placed it within her bag as she grabbed more. Memos, charts, suppliers, backers, but not a single mention of what it was all for. Something like that would be kept far safer. Kept deeper in the facility.
A low drone crept up through the stairwell as the assistant made her way deeper below.
"Find anything yet?"
"A panic attack."
"That's very funny, Scout, but Oi'm being serious."
"I was bein' serious," Scout replied as he pulled a waterlogged shotgun from the freezing water they were searching in, "I found a Panic Attack. Pretty sure it was Hardhat's."
"Oh." Sniper said before he went back to checking rusted cabinets and old soaked cardboard boxes. After searching the rest of the bottom floor and finding nothing but rusted ammo, weapons, and a very dirty Sasha("Aw man, Heavy'd have a freakin' an-ya-rhythm if he saw this." "Aneurysm." "Whaddeva."), they'd made their way into the base's workshop, or realistically, Engineer's workshop who saw Demoman on the weekends. Due to the lower level the room was built, water was knee deep, making travel slow and the chances of catching a cold pretty bloody high. Behind him, Sniper heard Scout sneeze.
"What're we even doin' searchin' through this crap?" The runner whined. The low splash followed as he chucked something useless away. Sniper hoped it was actually useless at least, and not something Scout perceived as useless "It's not like we'd find Doc's miracle weapons here." Truthfully, Sniper didn't have a good reason. Mostly instincts to have a thorough search as to not miss anything important.
"Well, once you're ready to get going, we can."
"Ya mean we can leave?" Scout asked hopefully.
"To another part of the base." At that, Scout visibly soured and kicked at the water.
"Well whatever, fine, let's freakin' go already, ain't nothin' here cept tools and wet blueprints."
"Fine, but put these in your pack," Sniper handed Scout a light toolbox.
"Why? We already have a toolbox, remember?"
"Not with these tools, we don't." Sniper explained before logging through the water and out into the hall. "Now let's go, Oi don't want to stay too long."
"Gee, wonder how dat feels." Scout grumbled
"Oi've always felt that way about this base." The marksman admitted, shaking some water from his pants. Behind him, he heard Scout scoff.
"Why? This place is, like, your freakin' paradise! There's trees, a lotta birds, more trees, higher places, uh… trees."
"So you think the only thing Oi would need to be happy are trees."
"Yeah." Scout paused, looking back towards the workshop's entrance. "Hey, uh, wha- did ya hear somethin'?" Sniper looked towards the door frame. It was empty, just like before.
"Only you, mate."
"Yeah, okay. Just thought I… nevermind." Scout went back to his walking, albeit slower, and quieter. "But seriously, why don't you like this place?"
"Well, it is a nice location," Sniper said, leaning down to grab something from the water. It was just a pistol. He put it back. "It's jus' always soaking wet. Not to mention some other aspects."
"Like…?"
"The bloody fact that it was built over a mine." He stumbled over a fallen beam hidden in the dark.
"It was?"
"Yup."
"Okay, but, why'd ya hate dat? I mean, like, dat's really deep down, right? And this is above ground."
"Jus' paranoid, Oi suppose."
Scout hummed when he managed to also trip on some hidden debris. Managing to catch himself, he stood, then froze.
"Dude, wait," Sniper stopped.
"Whot?"
"Uh, think we should try a different way."
"...the staircase up is literally right there." he pointed his torch at the far end of the hall at what used to be the staircase but was now a battered mess of splinters and sawdust.
"I bet there's another way up, like a hole somewhere." Scout said as he began to backup. He was staring at the ground.
"Ugh, we don't have time for this, Scout," Sniper grumbled as he started walking again. And that was when a deep creak erupted from the wood beneath his feet.
A split second later the floor gave away and a deep darkness opened up to swallow him whole. And it would have if it weren't for the arm that wrapped around his waist and yanked him back. Sniper stumbled back into something solid and sent it and himself down onto the puddled ground. A light oof! met his ears. And what met his eyes when he lifted them was a hole. Dark and tunneling deeper and deeper into the earth was a cavity that could easily fit two bull elephants. It eroded at the walls and half the floor sloped into the void until it stopped, cutting and breaking apart piece by small piece. How… how did he miss that!?
"Told ya we should've tried a different way." Scout said somewhere behind him. Sniper couldn't respond, his throat was drier than a desert. And there was still something wrapped around him. Looking down, he spotted the runner's arm, hand gripping his shirt so tightly it was causing wrinkles. Sniper peered over his shoulder and there sat Scout, staring back with wide eyes.
"...You can let go of me now." He finally said. Scout's expression seemed to short circuit as the gears in his head audibly grinded to a halt, leaving a blank, ditzy face. Then he started as if shocked and shot to his feet.
"Well I wouldn't have had ta do dat if you were actually lookin' where you were freakin' goin'! I swear, man, ya get tunnel vision at da worst possible times. Like, I get it when you're lookin' through a scope or somethin', but seriously, do I gotta babysit ya 24/7?"
"Awright, Oi get it," Sniper groaned, getting to his feet. Unfortunately, the gremlin had a point. Sniper really wasn't paying enough attention to his surroundings, which was what got him caught under a heavy metal cabinet unable to escape. He swallowed, staring at the gaping maw to his right.
"Thanks." When Sniper said that, Scout, who had been tightening his Basher's wraps, froze.
"Uh, ya- ya don't have ta, y'know." He stammered. "Anyone woulda done it, dat's, dat's what teammates do, right? Have each other's backs? It's what good people in, in general do, y'know? Right? So let's just freakin', just, move. Let's go! C'mon." Scout rolled his shoulder and started back, going a bit faster than before.
"Problem is, mate," Sniper called after him, causing the runner to pause his trot, "we checked this floor entirely. There's only one other place to check," Sniper jabbed a thumb towards the collapsed stairs at the other side of the similarly collapsed floor. Scout scoffed.
"Psh, yeah, okay, and how do ya expect ta make it, Einstein, by jumpin', cause ya wouldn't even make it half way. Trust me, pal, I'd know." The runner had a point. Again. Sniper looked around the large hole.
"There's a ledge of floor along the left wall," Sniper observed, "it's slim, but it could work." It was indeed slim, and there wasn't much to cling to wall-wise. But it was the only option they had besides jumping, and Sniper wasn't going to chance that anytime soon.
"Are you freakin' kiddin' me!?" Scout called as Sniper made his way over to the ledge, testing the floors and pausing each time a board creaked. "C'mon man, let's just look for a hole in da ceiling. Look, you were right earlier, okay? About this place goin' ta s**t, proof right in front of our freakin' eyes, so there's probably other holes around too! So let's just go and- you're not even listenin', are ya?" He stood at the cusp of the ledge and at the steep slope of breaking floor dipping into the cavity. To reach the ledge, Sniper would have to take a rather large step. A worrying creak slipped out from under his boot.
"Oh just let me do it!" Scout said, shoving Sniper back before turning to glare at him. "I'm lighter, and I actually kinda do this stuff for a livin', so just, walk where I walk, okay?"
"Awright." Sniper replied. Scout huffed, and paused to judge the distance. Or to reevaluate his life choices. Couldn't blame him, really. But then the Bostonian leaned forward and made the first massive step onto the thin pathway.
For a terrifying second, the broken wood creaked ominously under Scout's feet, and neither took a breath. But when the runner didn't go shooting through the ledge like it was thin ice, Scout took another step. Then another after another pause. When he made it halfway across, he gestured for Sniper to follow.
Now it was time for Sniper to reevaluate his life choices. But he came to the same conclusion. He took the step, and the ledge bent under his weight. The horrible darkness below was just waiting for the moment the marksman slipped up, for the creaking oak to break away and send Sniper hurling through the black, no doubt becoming a human pancake on the landing. And he could swear, if he stared hard enough, he could see something down there. Glowing faintly, so faint. Glowingly familiar, too familiar. He blinked away from below when he felt something tap tapping on his hand.
"Hey, don't get cold feet on me now, this was your idea." Scout scolded, tapping his index finger along Sniper knuckles to grab his attention. "Sides," his tone softened, "we're nearly there." And then they were. Standing at the bottom of the broken stairs, the pair had safely crossed the dark chasm.
"Look at dat, we made it thanks to yours truly!" Scout smugly observed. "Now how do we get up there?" The stairs, being broken, were useless, which left the question of how they would reach the second floor. Well, there were a few things that sprung to mind.
"Could give ya a boost." Sniper shrugged. Scout was light, he would probably only need a single hand to give the slim man enough height to reach the ledge. Well, just to be sure, he should use two-
A blur of movement came from his right and the next thing he knew, a cloud of dust was falling down on Sniper's hat from Scout's landing above him. He stared up at his companion, who was brushing off his shirt and rolling back his Basher arm. Scout caught Sniper staring and raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"How?"
"What, how I got up here?"
"Yeah."
"Jumped. Now c'mere, gimme your hand." Scout dropped to his stomach and reached down. After a moment, Sniper shook himself out from his dumbfounded stupor and grabbed the runner's hand. To Scout's credit, he nearly got Sniper to stand on tiptoes. But it was clear that lifting was impossible.
"Okay, this isn't working."
"Shuddup! I can do this!" Scout wheezed, face red from the effort. Deciding to humor Scout a while longer, Sniper let the runner try(and fail) to pull him up. At some point though, he was losing feeling in his arm, so he twisted his hand free from Scout's grip. Easily.
"Look, jus' give us the rope. Oi know you got one in your pack."
"I do?"
"Scout."
"Just jokin'! Jokin', totally knew we packed ropes, like, what kinda idiot forgets ta pack ropes." Scout's head disappeared for a while, and if Sniper didn't hear the irritated mumbles of said Scout, he'd have thought the runner up and left. But sure enough, Scout's head once again reappeared. And when he did, a rope hit Sniper smack dab in the middle of his face.
"Okay, now c'mon, we ain't stayin' longer than we have ta." It was still a bit of a challenge getting up using the rope, but at least he eventually got up. When he did, a dryer but dirtier hall met his eyes, along with a panting Scout.
"Why're ya so freakin' heavy, man?" He asked between breaths. "It can't just be cause a your freakin' rifle, dude."
"Oi'm really not, you jus' aren't that strong."
"Wh- hey!"
"Shush!" Sniper hissed, looking around at the beaten up walls and support beams. "We don't want this rubbish collapsing on us." There was a lot more debris than below with whole chunks of walls and doorways laying in piles on the ground along with furniture. "Is this where the dorms are located?"
"Nah, this's-" Another drone echoed through the dark and the pair froze. Looking around with his torch, Sniper scanned the dilapidated hall for any sign of movement.
"...There are holes everywhere," he reasoned, "it was probably jus' the wind. Come on." He got to his feet and gestured for Scout to follow. The marksman got ten feet away before he realized that his companion wasn't following. "Scout, c'mon."
"Uh," Scout started, eyes searching around for something, "yeah, just. There's… I dunno, but, ya ever get da feelin' dat… y'know, uh, somethin's watchin' ya?" Sniper paused, and listened. There was only that faint drone creeping through the compound, and the light plips of stray droplets falling down. It was very quiet. Far quieter than what Scout was probably used to, which might be the reason the runner was so on edge. When Sniper made to point this fact out, something else caught his attention.
"Oi smell petrol."
"What, gasoline?" Scout asked.
"Yeah," Sniper scanned the darkness once again, searching with his light along the floor and walls, "that's slightly concerning." Scout sniffed the air too, squinting in thought.
"Oh, yeah I smell it too." Something dawned on the runner's face, "Oh, I know what it is, Pyro was leaving around tons of old empty gas cans cause we were packing, remember? Well I think they were empty, h*ll if I know. Saw some under da water below."
"Oi don't remember that." Sniper muttered, stalking into the dark. Scout joined his side a second later. "Was this before or during the attack?"
"Freakin' before man, I keep tellin' ya I don't remember anythin' from da attack again and again and again, so how about you quit ****in' askin' me!" The snappish shout shot through the base and left an uncomfortable silence. A silence that continued far longer than wanted. At least from Scout's side. But he didn't say a word, even when they got back to searching along the ground for the Medigun. Through debris and shrapnel, wet drywall and broken doors, fallen cabinets and ruined posters they looked.
Every so often, one of the two would pause and look up, eyes darting around the base and dark shadows. Scout did it the most, shooting beams of light from his torch into every room, every nook, every speck, wearing an expression of intense concentration, looking for something that he couldn't find. Sniper's own searches were sparse and only a flicker towards some general direction before he went back to his search. But they both looked for the source of that prickling sensation. It was far too familiar to be completely brushed aside. The feeling of eyes, watching from some unknown place.
He hated this. Scout really did hate this. Sniper for some reason didn't seem to hate it as much as Scout did, but he was also better at hiding things. Maybe he did hate going through this death trap again and Scout was just being an *sshole again. That made some sense, so he shouldn't complain. Scout could complain, but he shouldn't, so he wouldn't.
Not out loud at least.
His hand, once clean and dry, was now coated in gross wood slime and dirt. Wiping it down on his jacket, he turned towards Sniper, who was busy lifting a bunch of heavy looking slabs away from something.
"Dat it?" Scout called.
"Oi bloody hope so," Sniper growled, "Oi cut my hand on this s**t."
"Ya didn't wrap your hands?"
"No?"
"You dumb. *ss." Scout slipped off his backpack and opened it. A roll of bandages hit Sniper dead center of his chest a moment later.
"Go wrap your freakin' hands before you end up getting tennis by cuttin' yourself again!"
"It's tetanus."
"Whatever! You dumb*ss."
As Sniper wrapped up his hands, Scout sat up and looked around once again. It was really dark. Last time the lights were still on. Guess they just died out. And Scout didn't know if he liked it better this way or not. The lights had been harsh and it was really hard making out movement. But he couldn't see anything now even with the flashlights. Anything could be hiding anywhere, staring at them, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. When their guards would be down, and then it would pick them off.
Why did they have to come back to this place? Well, as long as they didn't split up, they should be golden. Scout had already made that mistake and he wasn't about to do it again. Despite what the guys would say, he, in fact, was capable of learning from mistakes.
But maybe Sniper couldn't because they were still searching for the stupid Medigun! And Medic didn't even go up here, he went with Heavy and Soldier. Yeah, then he… they… where, when they told him… when.
He looked over to where Sniper was busy finishing up his wraps, and behind him lay a collapsed doorway, filled with wood, walls, and the ceiling. Beneath it all, and in the deep cutting shadows, lay an orange electronic device. Scout swallowed.
"Hey, uh, any idea how long we've been lookin'?" He called out to his companion. Sniper lifted his arm up, cursed, then brought his other arm up to light up his wristwatch.
"Two hours."
"We should go, then. If we haven't found da doc's medigun by now, we probably aren't goin' ta find it-"
"Could split up in order to find it faster."
"What!?" Scout shot to his feet. Was Sniper seriously- after everything- and he still wanted to- WHAT!? "Are you stupid!?"
"We're taking too long. And there are only two more floors to check. You can check the dorms and get yourself some clothes and Oi'll keep looking for the Medi- don't interrupt me." Scout closed his mouth. "Oi'll keep looking for the Medigun and after thirty minutes, Oi'll time it, we'll meet up and if Oi haven't found it then, we'll leave."
"But don't we have ta reach Miss Pauling or somethin' like dat too?" Scout asked. Sniper paused, face blanking, before he slapped a hand on his forehead.
"Ah bugger, Oi forgot! Look, Oi'll focus on that too, you jus' get yourself some clothes, awright?"
"Mmmmmmmhmhmhmmhfine. Thirty minutes only."
"Thirty minutes," Sniper repeated, looking at his watch, "starting now, so get going." Scout grumbled but did as he was told. The stairwell on this floor remained largely untouched with only a few steps broken. When he reached it, he turned back to watch as Sniper walked away, deeper into the base. And soon enough, the marksman was gone from sight, leaving Scout alone in the dark and quiet. A light plipping of rainwater and creaking of old oak and pine were his only companions left. That, and the loud wind roaring past outside.
Although his pulse was starting to beat a little faster than it probably should, and that it was making his vision a little darker than normal, Scout fixed his jaw and trotted up the creaking and busted stairs. The last step had collapsed entirely so Scout had to jump. He hopped over the step and onto the fourth and final floor.
It looked almost completely untouched compared to the others. Sure, the lights were down and the only light was from the multiple holes in the ceiling while also leaking rainwater, but at least there were no stupid webs. Scout started ahead, flicking his flashlight's beam around the black base. The darkness wasn't that dark but the small pale beams from the outside did **** all to actually light his path. At least he knew where he was going. And that there were no more stairs he could end up falling down.
The dorms of Sawmill were both Scout's favorite and least favorite dorms the team had had. Favorite because each dorm had their own hall and that meant privacy and silence. Least favorite because his dorm was the farthest into the base which meant more walking. It didn't matter if he was the fastest, it was still annoying as s**t! And Scout was definitely feeling the annoyance as he made his way through the halls towards his dorm.
Why was every base an architectural nightmare? And this was coming from the guy who grew up in a freaking city! It sucked so much.
Finally, after a good two minutes of walking, Scout found his room. It was dark, really dark this time, so out came the flashlight. The beam lit up the room and a warmth swept through the runner's mind.
A barren bed sat in the corner along with a small wooden nightstand. Surrounding it were piles of unlabeled boxes. The walls were blue like everything else and covered in small holes where tacks used to hold posters of everything from baseball players to hot chicks he found in those magazines somebody subscribed to(Heavy and Engie had gotten into a real nasty argument once when they were found in the Texan's workshop.). Boy, did he miss waking up to those!
Barren as it was, it was his. Settling down, Scout grabbed the first box and pulled it close, ripping the cardboard lips open. Baseball cards and other knickknacks. Another one was opened to find bedding and pillows. The third had old headpieces and mics for battles. Wait, they could actually use those. He grabbed three and stuffed them into his backpack.
Over and over Scout tore open his packed belongings, finding things he hadn't seen for weeks. His letters from home and family, old sketchbooks, winter clothes and even his worn down, tearing copy of Charlotte's Web. It was basically falling apart at the seams and several pages had dog ears and were torn nearly in half. He flipped through the dusty feeling paper.
He could have been reading this by now, sitting in his dorm at Harvest, waiting for the new day to start, somehow surviving everything with the others because they were just that good. And to think that all of that was snatched away by one small choice and one faulty headset. Freakin'... just, why? Why, why, why did all of this happen!? What, so one little decision gets to **** up their entire lives!? It was so ****ing unfair! All of it, all of it was unfair, why was he the one who had his hand taken away, why was he the one who had to go through everything while Sniper only had a light blow to the head? What did that guy do to deserve to live and the others didn't? Why did he get off scot-****ing-free while Scout didn't!? Why why why-
Groaning, Scout let his head fall. Thinking like that wasn't gonna change anything. They were all still gone, missing, and maybe dead. His arm was still gone forever. And trying to drag Sniper down with him? It was just going to make things worse, it wasn't Sniper's fault they were attacked. Wasn't Sniper's fault Scout's hand was probably just a pile of bones in the forest or digesting in some monster's stomach. They had more important things to worry about, and here he was moping around, like some stupid kid. A kid who couldn't even keep a lid on his own emotions right. Sniper could do that, most of the time, why couldn't Scout?
Before long, fresh pairs of clothes filled his bag and he even managed to find an old stuffed pig his ma packed him from his first care package. After making sure that the animal was tucked safely deep into his backpack, Scout zipped it up and made to leave. Giving one last glance at his belongings, the runner turned and left. And as he exited his room, he heard something above the wind outside. Something like a…
A roar? Probably just a mountain lion because Sniper said those things were around this area. Or a bear. Probably not that thing, no way, because that meant it had followed them here and had been following them the entire time and if that happened then that meant it had either followed Scout when he was left in the forest and just didn't kill him for some reason or it had followed Sniper in which case Scout ran off again and could have left him to get caught by the monster again and-
"Bear. Definitely bear. Bet it was those big ones, da grizzlies." Scout reassured, listening to the wind outside and for the roar again. It didn't come back. Bear. Hundred percent, no doubts about it, Grizzly Bear. He took a breathe and felt his lungs constrict.
What, so Sniper left for, like, fifteen minutes, and now Scout was having trouble breathing again!? It was stupid, it wasn't even dark yet! And they'd been separated for way longer, and the last time that happened Scout had been ditched in the middle of the wild with a Lovecraftian beast after him so why was this happening!? Sawmill was a dead place, there was nothing here, they'd been searching for- Scout swallowed, trying to catch his breath. Like, three hours at this point? No, just two. It. He took a sharp gasp of air. Time was just going quicker cause… of how dark. It. It wa. It was. Hard to breathe, his heart too quick.
His movement slowed. And it got slower, and slower.
He wasn't moving. Couldn't even lift his feet. Oh no. Scout started to pant, heart racing, and then he was gasping. Gasping, choking, frozen in place and couldn't move, they were separated. Couldn't breath and shout, how long had it been. How. How lo. Long? Twenty, thirty, everything was growing dark and his limbs felt made of old tv static.
He still couldn't move. Stuck, like a deer in h. Headlights. Vulnerable, no! Leaning forwards to try and force himself to move, Scout-
"WA-" His knees buckled and the runner just managed to break his fall with his arms. The wood scraped his palm and stump as his flashlight went flying, clattering in the distance, and his vision darkened, head swimming.
At least he didn't land on the Basher.
Blurry, dizzy, and full of vertigo, Scout rolled onto his back, the blinding spots in the ceiling dancing in the dark of his mind. Did he stand up too fast? No, but maybe he slowed down too fast. Was that even a thing? Well what was a thing was the exhaustion he felt deep in his bones.
Wait.
Oh it was this s**t again. He couldn't move his legs, just like in the forest. Stupid muscles, not doing their one job. At least the fall made his not breathing thing go away.
Scout lay on the ground, both mad and tired. His head was still swimming, and his vision was swimming too. And now he was hearing things because Scout could have sworn he heard someone say hello.
Wait, what?
"Hhh," He tried to speak but his lungs were still faltering, "h. Hhello?"
"Hello?" Was there an echo, because that was definitely his voice. Maybe. It was too dark to tell. The world was still swirling around like a carousel and whenever he looked around from the floor, everything shifted and-
Scout shot his head up, eyes wide, before the world went dark again and he had to lay it back down. No, no he wasn't going crazy, he was too handsome to be going crazy. But he had seen something, or someone, and didn't know who it was. If there was someone.
The soft padding of feet crept up from the shadows and Scout's heart exploded into overdrive. And he couldn't move!-
Please let it be Mick, please let it be Mick. Actually, if Sniper saw him like this then that would lead to a whole range of things so maybe not- Nope, no, let it be Sniper, PLEASE let it be Sniper!
Scout opened the eyes he didn't know he closed. Through the blurriness, Scout could make out a pair of legs and shoes. He looked up to meet the other man's gaze-
And laughed in relief.
"Guy! You're back!"
The Scout sheepishly smiled back and waved.
"Dude," Scout exclaimed, "Ya gave me a freakin' heart attack, man! Little warning next time ya pull a ninja move like dat, okay?" The Scout gave what looked like an apologetic shrug, "Anyway, ya gotta get me up! If Snipah finds me lyin' here like a lil' b***h he's gonna freak! Little help?" The Scout looked over to the lying man and after a moment, lent a hand. Scout took the offer and felt himself get pulled to his feet. The hand he took was surprisingly cold and stiff, but solid.
"Okay, thanks man!" The Scout paused, and nodded.
"No problem."
"Alright, I think I can manage it now. Uh, but, why did ya come back? Y-You said you weren't gonna be helpin' me anymore, remember?" The Scout cocked his head. "Like, ya said you weren't comin' back, remember? Just "poof" gone, told me I deserved it." His companion only shrugged, and Scout felt nails dig into his hand.
"Uh, you can let go now." The Scout started and released. "Uh, you, uh, you good? Kinda quiet."
The Scout opened his mouth, blanked, and shrugged again. Scout looked his companion up and down. He looked to be the same as he was in the forest, except a bit more solid and a lot less smoky. The clone also looked kinda… lost? He would meet Scout's gaze for a second before turning away towards the ground or the side. There was also the fact that he was kinda frowning. Like, not the sad sad kind of frown but, the one when you don't really know what's going on. Like when you're supposed to capture a point but have no idea where the next point even is and everyone is relying on you. Scout himself frowned in empathy, because oh boy did he know the feeling.
"Oh, uh, somethin' happened? Do… do you need help? I thought you were kinda, ya know, a guardian, a conscious or some s**t. Didn't really think you were actually real, unless I passed out and this is a dream."
"Yeah, little help?"
"Uh, yeah, just, what do ya need help with?" Scout asked. His companion paused, and squinted at the ceiling in thought. When brainstorming brought nothing, The Scout sighed and instead opened his arms up.
"What, you wanna hug?" The Scout frowned that confused frown again before once more shrugging apologetically. "I- okay?" Little weird but, hey, he owed the guy one. Scout took a step forward and instantly his knee buckled. Luckily his companion caught him before he landed face first on his Basher.
"Woah, okay, guess I'm not good yet- woah!" Scout blurted out as he was swiftly swept off his feet and into a bridal carry. "Dude, what da h*ll?"
"It's okay, I got this."
"Uh, wha- hold on, back up, can ya put me down?" The Scout gave him a look. "...Yeah, okay, but I can at least stand. So uh…"
"Little help?"
"I, yeah, okay," Scout sighed, catching the scent of what smelled like lemon yogurt. His stomach growled. "Just, freakin', I dunno, just do what ya gotta do, Snipah's waitin' for us- for me." The Scout paused, mouthing something with a dazed look, before looking back with a smile and a nod. Then, he turned and carried Scout back towards the dorms.
The walk was slow because The Scout would sometimes stumble over his own feet, like he was still learning to walk, and it probably didn't help that he was carrying Scout, whose legs still felt like they were dipped in liquid nitrogen and filled with dead air. At least that scent was nice. Really sweet, kinda familiar. Kinda like a sick sweet but it was mostly sweet sweet.
"Hey, where we goin'? Cause Snipah's waitin' for me." The Scout didn't respond, he appeared to be looking for something. Through the dorms and past Medic's, Pyro's, Heavy's, and into one he didn't recognize. Before they entered, The Scout set Scout down and when it was clear that he wasn't about to collapse again, The Scout took his hand and led him into the dorm. As they passed the door, Scout caught sight of the nameplate.
"Snipah has a dorm? Okay, well duh, course he'd have one! Why we goin' in here?" The room was completely bare bones; nothing but the normal bed and nightstand covered in a fine layer of dust that seemed to trap all surrounding sounds.
There was a weird feeling in his hand, kinda prickly, kinda cold. The Scout turned back to Scout, eyes filled with curiosity. He let Scout's hand go and the runner felt it fall at his side. He tried to move his fingers. Just a cold numbness responded. His heart was starting to beat.
"Um, hey, we need ta get goin'. Snipah's gonna start thinkin' somethin's wrong, and… and nothin's wrong, right?" The Scout paused, then shook his head before grabbing Scout's shoulders.
"Nope."
There was a look in his eyes, one that sent chills down Scout's spine before it was engulfed in a strange numbness. Like freshly fallen snow had just been injected straight into his muscles. And he was slipping down, and down. Something solid met his back as The Scout gently pushed him against the wall. The runner's shoulders grew lax, and he slipped further down, legs shaking and buckling again. Once more, Scout couldn't move.
"H-Hey, wha…" He began before The Scout met his eyes again. That look was gone, and then it was back, and then it was replaced with something warm. Friendly.
"...let me go. Please let me go, dude." Scout was only being held up by the other Scout, the one whose hands kept him both standing and trapped. He stared back, eyes flashing with emotions that couldn't exist within the span of milliseconds. The runner's heart was beating out of his chest. Then, The Scout's right hand released Scout's arm, and raised it slowly, like he was about to touch something red hot.
Four fingers brushed against Scout's cheek and stopped, holding his head in a care filled touch. Then the other hand encompassed his other cheek and held him still. Limbs dead, Scout could only watch in shock as his counterpart pulled itself closer, their faces only just apart.
"Sorry there, man." Engie's soft accent filled the dark, empty room.
No.
"I require assistance!"
No! Those cold fingers pushed further into his face, digging and splitting his skin apart and digging more.
PLEASE! A deep frost was settling into his flesh. A cold, dead, crawling motion right below the surface, worming through him like he was dirt. His heart beat faster and faster, harder and harder-
Images, flashes of colors and thoughts, emotions, fears.
He spoke, and sang, and laughed, and felt. A cold rippling like his veins were tying up in knots. A Christmas party, three boring graduations, a thrilling game, a heart wrenching disappearance. Digging further still.
"-Vhat is that thing!?-"
"-Keep firing, men!-"
"-it ate him! It ate him!-"
"-Pyro, stop! It's hopeless!-"
"-DON'T LEAVE-"
"-RUN LEETLE MAN-"
"-Leave him!-"
"-SCOUT!-"
"-Laddie, please!-"
"-Boy, don't you dare!-"
"-DON'T LEAVE!-"
"-PLEASE!-"
Scout was dropped like a sad sack upon the moldy floor. There he lay, unmoving, staring up at a perfect replica of himself. Clothing, scars, eyes, and all. The only thing different was the creature's left hand, unharmed. That didn't last long. With a cringeworthy ripping sound, The Counterfeit tore the hand off from it's arm and dropped it upon the floor. From there the appendage began to leak an iridescent fluid, the same tone as the webbing in Landfall. The Not-Scout's arm twisted and morphed into a bandaged stump wielding a Boston Basher.
"He-hey! Nice!" It said before picking the hand back up. Scout watched it just stand there, staring at the hand. If his legs could just freaking move!
The Not-Scout looked back at Scout and grabbed his shoulder again, ignoring the harsh flinch the touch caused.
"don't." Scout's voice was a whisper. The urge to shout couldn't overturn the numbness of his throat. The Not-Scout sat Scout up against the wall, all gentle-like, as if it didn't just do what it did. Then, it grabbed Scout's left arm and tapped the severed hand to the stump. Again and again it tapped them together with Scout watching in mute horror. Boredom set in eventually though, and after a minute, The Not-Scout shrugged and dropped the arm.
"It's okay, I got this." It said before it placed the hand on it's chest. The way the two morphed together into one being again made Scout want to rip his eyes out, it was disgusting. But before he could act on the urge, The Not-Scout took his face again. And it smiled.
"Thanks, pally! Thanks for this." It had those warm eyes again. Blue eyes filled with gratitude. Then they changed. Blue to gray to brown. Gratitude to apathy to malice. Cold, mocking sadism.
He'd seen those eyes before.
That was the last thing Scout thought before his lips were locked to his copy's. Warm, bitter, sour taste. He writhed and shoved and pushed back with a scream. Sour taste. His copy's grip was iron clad and it watched in glee as his fight was fading fast. Gleeful eyes at a sour taste.
Sour taste, sour air, sour rain, sour trees, sour taste.
He couldn't breathe due to the sour, writhing taste.
Scout had been too loud.
"Sorry," his lips were free again, "I'm really sorry. It just. Dat just slipped out. Sorry." His face was let go. Sour taste.
"But dat was kinda funny, yeah? No. Sorry. Kinda funny though." Scout didn't respond. Nausea and sour tastes. His copy gave an apologetic grin. The numbness still wasn't fading.
"Um, hey, I need to get goin'. Cause Snipah's waitin' for me. I'm leavin', thanks." The Not-Scout stood, and ripped Scout's backpack off his shoulders. Water jars, clothing, and headsets fell to the grounds and the mason jars broke on impact, sending water and glass flying. Some landed on Scout, digging into his skin, some landed on his doppelganger, who shrieked when the water touched it. But nothing happened. It paused, shaking off the water, and looking at itself. The only difference was that the places where the droplets landed were suddenly richer in color instead of Scout's pale skin.
"Huh, weird," it said before turning back towards Scout who was left lying on the ground motionless.
"Thanks, pally. I owe you a big one." It gave him a grateful wink before pulling the backpack over his shoulders and leaving. And as it left, it closed the door with a grin, engulfing Scout in complete darkness.
