Okay, so, I don't think I'm going to be able to finish this story before next year, especially if each chapter continues to be this length. Well, as long as I actually finish this, I hope you all don't mind another few months of slight hiatuses and longer chapters. Hope you enjoy the second half to this chapter!


Thirty minutes had passed and Sniper was getting worried. And for several good reasons. Firstly, he didn't find the Medigun. So far all the rooms, including the Infirmary, were empty. There was a doorway he believed to be for the Rec Room, but that was caved in so without a helping hand, it was a bust. But he did find some ammo. Secondly, he had absolutely no idea how to establish communication between him and Scout and Miss Pauling or whoever they could reach. H*ll, even the RED team would be good. But lastly, and perhaps what worried him the most, was that Scout was nowhere to be found. And that was saying something because there were only two levels he could be on.

Sniper drummed his fingers along The Machina's side, creating a rhythm to the beat of his steps. He'd taken it out earlier, when he heard some animal above the raging wind outside. And besides, it just felt… right to hold it again. The weight was perfectly balanced in his hands, the mark of a professionally crafted rifle. It had been far too long since he used one. Perhaps that was the reason why he kept catching his finger resting itself on the trigger. Or maybe the reason was the fact that he was worried.

The top floor was wet, not as much as the lower levels, which was strange considering the amount of holes in the ceiling. Through the cracks, Sniper could see dark swirling clouds. A storm was coming. They couldn't stay much longer. Where the h*ll was Scout?

Ah, these were where the dorms were located. Along the walls and through the halls were rooms and doors. As Sniper walked, he looked over the silver plaques drilled into the doors. Engraved on the glistening surface was his team's titles and symbols. The first were the Defense classes. Each was closed, and no doubt filled with the packaged belongings of his late comrades. Past Engineer's, Heavy's, Demoman's, and towards the support classes. What did their dorms even look like? He never looked, why would he? It was an invasion of privacy for starters, and besides, he didn't even use his assigned dorm. Speaking of which.

To Sniper's left was his room. The engraving was as sharp as his aim, and untouched. He had to admit he was curious, and that looking inside wouldn't take more than a few seconds. But Scout, if anywhere, would probably be in his own dorm. So he continued towards the runner's hall.

Well, someone had been in there. Scout's door was wide open, and when Sniper stepped inside, the clues of the runner became more apparent. Boxes were everywhere, both opened and unopened. Discarded clothes lay strewn about, a small cardboard box held piles of baseball cards, and the thing that caught Sniper's attention the most, was a clearly well loved copy of Charlotte's Web.

Scout could read? Well, could read more than three sentences? Perhaps so.

But the runner was still missing. Just where could he be, Sniper had been searching for several minutes at this point! There could only be so many places the mongrel could be. Leaving the empty room behind, Sniper turned and headed back towards his own dorm. Closed or not, it was basically the only other place Scout could be in. Didn't really make sense why it was closed or what Scout would be doing in there, and why Sniper didn't hear him when he passed.

Soon enough, he stood once again before his untouched room. He reached for the doorknob, before stopping. Instead, Sniper raised his fist and rapped on the door. If his teammate really was in there, and had a reason to close the door, well, he didn't want to startle the kid. His ears wouldn't be able to handle it.

"Scout?" Sniper started, "ya in there, mate?" No answer. Welp, he tried. Sniper grabbed the doorknob-

"Snipah."

"WH-" He spun around and aimed The Machina at his sudden company. With a startled expression, Scout stumbled back, away from the marksman. Sniper's own eyes widened.

"Whot the h*ll, Scout, ya can't jus' sneak up on someone like that!" He snapped. "And where have ya been? Oi've been looking for you for a good fifteen minutes at this point."

"I've been freakin' packin'! Like ya told me too!" Scout snapped back. "Now could ya point dat thing somewhere else? Ya could kill someone." Sniper rolled his eyes, but obliged.

"That wouldn't happen, Oi've got better trigger discipline than you."

"Yeah, whatever, did ya find da…" Scout blanked. The runner stood there, with a hollow look, staring straight through Sniper, unblinking. Didn't even seem to breathe. Sniper shifted on his feet.

"...The Medigun?"

"Yeah!" Scout snapped back to life and snapped his eyes up to meet Sniper's. "Dat. Did ya find it?"

"Nothing." Sniper admitted, lowering his aviators to rub at his eyes. "Not a single clue where it is. And if you didn't find it, there's only one other place it could be."

"Yeah, in da Rec room," Scout nodded. "On da floor below us." Sniper stiffened, then lowered his hand to stare at Scout. Scout wasn't looking at him. Instead, the Bostonian looked around the walls and ceiling, appearing to be in thought. He was wearing some expression Sniper couldn't place. Sharp and soft at the same time.

"Ya starting to remember?" He asked. His younger companion turned towards him, opened his mouth to speak, then froze up again. Blank, and Sniper could picture the cogs in the runner's head working overtime to remember what he was going to say.

"Not," Scout finally said, eyes darting away, "not really." Sniper didn't press the issue. If Scout's reaction before was anything to go by, trying to force an answer would make him blow up and maybe get violent. He didn't necessarily believe the runner would, but Sniper really didn't want to chance having to deal with a snarky, irate man in the prime of his life, infection or not, ready and willing to start an all and out brawl.

"Awright," he sighed, "well, before we leave, Oi want to check that room, if we can. Since you've gotten your things, we can both work on clearing the doorway out. Then, we can go."

"Where?"

"Oi don't know," Sniper admitted, turning and heading back down the halls, "we'll… Oi'll figure it out once we get there. For now, let's focus on getting the Medigun, if it's even in there."

"Yeah, okay." Scout said as he trotted to Sniper's side. The pair walked together in sync, through the wet floor and past gaping holes. At some point, the two had to trod under a large part of collapsed ceiling, letting rainwater into the destroyed base. Sniper simply dashed through, avoiding as much of the chilly weather as possible. Scout didn't. The runner watched the rain fall through, and when Sniper told him to quit stalling, Scout rocked back and forth and stumbled before sprinting through the water, whimpering.

"It's cold." Scout said when Sniper gave him a strange look.

"Ya never had problems with the cold before." Sniper pointed out. His companion shot him a nasty glare. He stared right back.

"How about you mind your own business, Sniper." The younger mercenary said before turning away and continued to walk. Sniper had to speed up in order to catch him.

Another few minutes passed and the pair had reached the staircase. Scout made to head down, but something caught Sniper's eyes. At the end of the hall, past Scout, past the staircase, past holes and broken walls, was a very familiar doorway.

"Hey, where are you goin'?" Scout called after him. Sniper didn't answer, and didn't stop. The door was open, and the dim light from the overcast sky shone through. And into the light, the marksman stepped onto his destroyed nest.

An overwhelming sense of Deja Vu flooded the assassin's mind. The way the rain fell and the wind howled. How the sky was darkening into the mid evening cool. The piles of rubble and fallen roofs. Somewhere in the mess would be his original pair of aviators and Sniper Rifle. He gripped his Machina tighter.

"Can't believe it's already been three weeks…" Sniper mumbled to himself. Through the racing wind, he heard the audible creaking of wood behind him. When he turned to face the noise, Scout was there, staring up at the sky with wide, wondrous eyes.

"Weeks…" Scout repeated, "straight up weeks."

"It doesn't feel right, does it?"

"No, no it doesn't." Sniper turned back towards the land and rolling, tree covered hills. Three whole weeks. Maybe more. He lightly felt along the side of his head, knowing he wouldn't feel a wound.

"...y'know, uh, hey?" Scout asked, snatching back Sniper's attention. "Y'know, do, do ya ever do somethin' dat. Dat ya know ya had ta do but… even though ya had ta do it, it doesn't feel right?"

"Come again?"

"Because dat's what had ta be done, and I know dat. But, just, it still doesn't feel right, somethin's missin'. Like," Scout tapped his chest, "I'm, I'm me. But still… missin' somethin'. Ya get what I'm sayin'?"

"Not a word." Sniper admitted. At that, Scout drooped, and sighed.

"Me neither. Anyways, why did ya come back here, it wasn't ta talk about birds again, right?"

"No," Sniper grabbed his hat's rim and pulled it, making sure it was still snugly fit on his head, "jus', jus' wanted to see the view one last time, Oi suppose."

"Okay, well, ya did, so let's go. Dat Medigun ain't gonna find itself." And with that, Scout left, marching into the base and no doubt towards the collapsed doorway. Sniper paused before he followed, taking one final glance towards the indescribable wilderness. Then, he hitched his backpack up, and marched into the dark base.

Scout was there to meet him, apparently having not gone ahead. He reached the runner, and the pair made their way down to the third floor, in lockstep with one another. It was… weird, just how closely Scout was keeping with Sniper. Their steps were the same in length and leg. Scout, who normally slouched, was straight and walked on with shoulders back. And whenever Sniper turned away, he could make out, in the corner of his vision, Scout staring at him.

"...Problem, mate?" He blurted out. Scout jolted.

"Huh?"

"Your stares, if Oi didn't know any better, Oi'd think you're trying to see through moi clothes."

"Oh, nah." Scout said, rather nonchalant. Sniper turned to meet his eyes. They were curious.

"Then whoi are you staring at me?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's bloody weird, quit it."

"Why should I?" Okay, he was actually starting to grate on Sniper's nerves now.

"Oi shouldn't have to explain whoi Oi want you to stop staring, it's only polite. If someone tells you to stop something, you do it." Sniper heard Scout scoff to his left.

"Unless you are torturing them for information. But I suppose that doesn't count, does it?" The faint dripping of water echoed through the halls as they made their way towards the wrecked entrance. Sniper snuck a glance at his companion. The runner wasn't staring anymore, thank goodness, but he was quiet. And wasn't blinking very much.

"Scout." He said. The younger man didn't seem to hear. "Scout."

"What?" Scout asked, exacerbated.

"Are…" How was he supposed to phrase this? But the way he spoke made Sniper walk quieter. Made him more on edge. No, it was just this place. It was Scout's paranoia from before seeping into him. And that was frustrating. Very, very frustrating.

He was better than that; getting one's nerves shaken over some… delinquent's mental ramblings was for amateurs. Getting scared over nothing with no evidence to stand on wasn't for him, it was for, well, for Scouts. Before, yes, he could admit that his own denial played a part. But now there had been no evidence of anything. And even if one counted the distant roar from some animal, that really could only be circumstantial. Nothing. And he was getting really tired of Scout's behavior and pushing that onto Sniper.

He grabbed Scout's shoulder, and the runner snapped down to look at his hand.

"Listen, Oi don't know whot you did to get yourself so bloody irritated where ya have to drag me down too in order to feel better, but Oi'm not having it." He hardened his grip, "Oi've told you the plan, Oi've-"

"That hurts." Scout interrupted, staring at Sniper's hand, "Let me go."

"No it doesn't, Oi'm barely holding ya, now listen-" Scout wasn't listening. He kept his eyes on Sniper's hand, and grabbed it. And pried it off.

"Look, sorry if I made ya mad," Scout started, meeting Sniper's stare with his own, "this place is kinda gettin' ta me, and I wanna leave, like, right now but I know dat we hafta find this freakin' healin' gun. So how about we focus on gettin' it before another stupid bicker pops up?" Sniper stood there, silent. He didn't know how to respond. Scout was right, they were spending too much time, and getting into a fight would make things worse. He didn't know how to respond to the fact that Scout was the one who pointed this out. So he didn't, and simply nodded.

At that, Scout finally let go of Sniper's hand, and some feeling came crawling back. Along with light pricks of pain. He scanned his hand, finding red indents of fingernails.

"So, this is da freakin' room, right? Last one?" Scout's question snapped Sniper out of his thoughts. The rubble-filled doorway stood before them, with Scout already kneeling and prepared to dig through the pile.

"Yeah, that's… that's it." Sniper made his way over and knelt at Scout's side. Together, they began to sift through the debris. Work was slow, and hands were dirtied. And their progress was hindered somewhat, since Sniper was working through with haste, Scout was… not? He would push aside the dust and muck but would pause every once in a while, looking miffed. Sometimes at nothing, sometimes at Sniper, sometimes at his hand. Maybe it was just the fact that the runner was once again reminded that he was disabled. Sniper couldn't exactly blame the kid for being mad about that.

He grabbed a beam and tried to lift it. Didn't work, all that got him was a splinter in his thumb and more muck. So he grabbed it and pulled. That worked better, shifting the pile and loosening the dam. Grunting with effort, Sniper yanked at the pillar and it was removed, sending a new wave of dirt and debris tumbling to the ground. Along with revealing a vibrant device against the blue base.

"Well, whot do ya know?" Sniper hummed as he leaned down and picked up the orange headset. It was pointless to keep, it was completely broken. But it was strange how it was here of all places. The earpiece was cracked open and the mic was snapped and swinging freely with the only thing connecting it being the exposed copper wires. "It's your headpiece."

"Huh," Scout said before continuing his work, "it's broken, plus I got us some, you can just throw dat one away."

"Whoi was it here of all places?" Sniper mumbled, letting the device slip from his hand. It landed with a sharp plastic clatter. He stared at it for a moment, then got back to his work.

"Say," he started, "did you try contacting anyone with the ones you go-"

-CXThhHHHhhhhrrrRrrrrrRrrrrrrsststststt- The static cut through the quiet like a gunshot, and the pair snapped around to find the source. Hand on his Machina, Sniper stared down with shocked eyes at Scout's broken headset. Painful electric gravel spewed from the mic, indecipherable to either him or Scout. The shrieks and sparks kept coming, and the two were shocked into immobility.

-ssssttTHHHHhHSAWMIREREEnnnnnnnRrrrrRrrrRrrRrRRBACKTtttUPCCCxxCxTtssststsstCOPY, I REPEAT, THIS IS THRreeeereerzzzxxxxxxxx-

Then, a loud POP, and the radio was silent. No one moved with Sniper staring at the dead machine, and Scout looking at Sniper. The marksman swallowed.

"Did," He started, trying to calm his pulse, "did you understand a word of that?"

"Didn't hear anythin' but bulls**t," Scout replied, turning back towards the noticeably smaller pile. "C'mon, it was broken, let's get this crap over with."

"Could have sworn Oi heard someone talking," Sniper murmured. He felt Scout's eyes before he heard the runner speak.

"Dude, da freakin' thing was busted ta h*ll, da only thing it'd say would be anything\' it recorded, now come on."

"Headsets don't record anything… Something was using the same frequency…"

"Mick," Sniper turned towards his companion. Scout was staring him down with a sharp glare. "That device is just a broken headset. What we just heard was nothing but static from a destroyed microphone. Nothing more, nothing less. Now help me clear this doorway so we can go." Scout left no room for argument, and Sniper had none. So he did as he was told. Until he paused to try and meet Scout's eyes again. It took a while, but eventually Scout noticed Sniper's stares, and glared back.

"What?" Scout asked. Sniper opened his mouth to say something, but the words died on his tongue. His eyes had played tricks on him. It was probably a mix of his glasses and the dark. But…

Nah, Scout's eyes were always that deep thunderous blue, not blackish brown.


Cold, dark, numb. Was this what Sniper had to go through? Helpless, forced into the dark, with nothing but the hope that someone would come to save him? Yeah, Scout could understand the anger now. Luckily, he had only been here for around five minutes or so.

But that was still five minutes of being locked away, and right now, despite everything Scout tried, he couldn't move. Not his eyes, set to look at the door. Not his hand, lying dead on the dusty floor, and not his legs. He tried anyway.

Scout mentally screamed at his body to rise, to twitch, to push past the alien numbness in his skin. That was something he could do: think. Sniper said he wasn't able to when he was caught, and yet Scout's mind was racing a million miles an hour. A way to escape, where and what Sniper was doing, was he searching for him, did that demon find him, would he be fooled? Why didn't it string him up and put him into a cocoon like Sniper? Why had it thanked him and just left, not maiming and laughing like the first time? It was acting funny, and why the flying **** did it look like him before he was even captured!?

He felt his mouth fill with vile tasting saliva, unable to swallow it down. That disgusting sourness wasn't leaving, all he could do was just not think about it. And that was downright impossible at the moment. At least his gag reflex was also numbed or else Scout would most likely be drowning on his own vomit.

That would be the worst way to go, and if he was going out, it was going to be a banger. And he wasn't going to die alone either! That would probably be even worse than choking on puke now that he thought about it.

D*mnit, why couldn't he just move a single ****ing finger!? Just a pinky, come on! Scout focused all his thoughts and energy into his hand, desperate to feel anything. But once more, was met with paralysis. What a load of total horse s-

Footsteps. Coming this way. Scout's mind was ripped away from his body and towards the noise behind the door. They were quiet, muffled, and anonymous. Was it coming back to finish the job? If he could just move a bit-

They got louder, and sharper. Nothing like the softer padding of The Counterfeit, no, these were larger, clicked against the wooden floor, and had some weight to them. Sniper.

Open the door, open the door, openthedooropenthedooropenthedoor, COME ON MICK, open the door! Scout screamed in his head, hoping Sniper had developed some rapid onset Telepathy. Actually, maybe he did because the footsteps stopped right outside the door. Yes, yes! Just open the door! Please! NO DON'T WALK AWAY! But the footsteps were already fading away, and Scout was left alone once more.

Quiet. Too quiet. He could only just hear the patter of rain on the roof; it was the only sound within the small, dark dorm. Not even his breathing was audible. Scout didn't even feel it.

He didn't want to die here. A chill shot up his spine. It was too cold, that achy cold. And through the numbness, Scout felt goosebumps begin to form on his arms and legs from rubbing against the fabric of his clothes.

Sour tastes, quiet shadows dancing in his vision, shivering colds. They never should have come back here, if Scout had just fought back more, had pushed more, just stood his ground a little bit longer, then Sniper would have listened. Right? He would have listened, right? Unless he didn't want to.

Maybe…

Maybe he planned for this to happen, for Scout to get caught. Sniper never said if he forgave him, maybe it was all an act, to get Scout to trust him, to bide his time before Scout could be taken care of. Sniper wasn't his friend, after all. He made that crystal clear, despite every single little nod to the opposite. Maybe he just did that to get back at Scout, because Sniper thought that's what Scout did? Play nice and just ditch him when the going gets tough?

No, he- he wouldn't do that, Mick wouldn't do that. He might have been an *sshole sometimes, sure, but never like this. Despite what the others would say about Sniper, that he was a hermit, that he was a sociopath, that he made lampshades and curtains out of people's faces(which was such an obvious lie now that Scout thought about it), that he didn't care about anyone and wouldn't hesitate to kill you if you annoyed him, Scout couldn't believe any of that anymore.

Sniper was one of the more... genuine(?) people on the team. Scout would go as far to say that he was more trustworthy than Engie, even if it was just by a little bit. The guy had a set of morals that he wouldn't shove aside just because of something Scout had already apologized for, right? Like, he'd told him his name, his actual, full on name. That had to mean something!

Unless he lied about it. Unless he was faking everything. To finally get even? If that were the case, then Scout would have to lay here for another eighteen hours before Sniper came back. If he even wanted Scout back.

A horrible tightness was building in Scout's throat. Sniper wouldn't want him back. He was probably heading back towards the van to leave. Saying "Good riddance, Scout!" happy as could be. Why wouldn't he, Scout was just the annoying reconnaissance guy! Scout was a liar.

A liar.

His attention was stolen back by the sound of encroaching footsteps, and yeah, hopeful was an underestimation of what Scout was feeling. He wanted to shout, cry out, scream, bring the skies down, raise hell just to make Sniper open the door. Anything, to open the door.

Please, please look inside, I'm right here… The footsteps got louder, and louder, then stopped right outside the door. Silence. And all of a sudden, tap tap tap.

"Scout, ya in there, mate?" The Australian's voice was heard through the door. Yes, YES, I'm here, I'm in here, right here, just open the door! Through the dark, the runner made out the distinct sound of the doorknob jiggling. And his heart soared.

"Snipah?"

"WH-" No. Oh no. "Whot the h*ll, Scout, ya can't jus' sneak up on someone like that!" No no no! Sniper, don't fall for it, run!

"I've been freakin' packin'! Like ya told me too! Now could ya point dat thing somewhere else? Ya could kill someone." Scout's own irritated voice penetrated the dark.

"That wouldn't happen, Oi've got better trigger discipline than you." Sniper was falling for it, he wasn't even checking! That idiot! He was gonna get himself trapped again! And Scout wouldn't be able to do s**t about it! He mentally screamed, cursing himself, his paralysis, that monster, Sniper, Satan, Spy, anyone and everyone, this wasn't fair!

"Yeah, whatever, did ya find da…" silence. Scout held his already silent breath, listening as hard as he could. Did it get Sniper?

"...The Medigun?" Oh thank goodness, it didn't.

"Yeah! Dat. Did ya find it?"

"Nothing. Not a single clue where it is. And if you didn't find it, there's only one other place it could be." They were talking, Sniper didn't suspect a thing. Was he that stupid or was Scout just that easy to fake? He went for the latter because he was just that swell of a person. He hoped so. Scout tried to move his hand again.

"Yeah, in da Rec room, On da floor below us."

"Ya starting to remember?" Uh oh, the Counterfeit messed up. Scout wanted to grin, but he couldn't feel his face. Nothing still. But he got hopeful too soon apparently. The fake Scout deflected.

"Not, not really."

"Alright, well, before we leave, Oi want to check that room, if we can. Since you've gotten your things, we can both work on clearing the doorway out. Then, we can go." Leave!? No, no he couldn't leave! He was playing right into its hands! Hand, whatever! It was going to kill him! Move, he needed to move, Scout needed to move now! Make some noise, get a weapon, anything, anything! He couldn't be left behind again! Not again, he wasn't going to die alone! Through the dark, Scout could just make out the fuzzy silhouettes of some headsets.

"Where?"

"Oi don't know, we'll… Oi'll figure it out once we get there. For now, let's focus on…" Their voices grew quieter as two sets of footsteps began. No, Mick, please…

But nobody came back. Darkness was once again Scout's only companion. And his vision began to burn.

It was the only warmth in the whole room, and the runner willingly leaned into the near painful blurring. He almost relished in the feeling, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Only in his case, a very pathetic moth who had his wings cut and couldn't even see the flame he wanted, no, needed, so much. Feeling anything through the cold static was a victory over that thing in his books. And boy was he feeling something.

Hate.

It stole his look, it stole his frie- his teammate, teammates, it took everything. When he got his hands on it again, there would be hell to pay! Do ya hear that, you freakish glob of wet meat!? HELL TO PAY!

Scout's middle finger twitched. And twitched again after thirty seconds. The runner's mind eased back on it's wrathful crusade planning, and once again focused on his paralyzed body. He had moved. Scout didn't do it on purpose, but he still moved. Another victory. Now if he could just…

Ow. There was a piece of glass stuck in his finger, oh yeah, he could feel it now. Throbbing, stinging, and the uncomfortable feeling of something hard and foreign lodged in your skin. At least it wasn't a freaking bullet.

Minutes passed, and his finger was twitching more frequently. His eyes were also super strained. Oh, did Scout want to blink. He wanted to blink so badly. But couldn't. Yet.

More minutes passed, then more when he finally was able to bend his finger to his own will. And then his hand was soon to follow with that awful sleeping limb feeling crawling through his system.

That's when something wet slid down his forehead. And more from his shoulders and down his arms. It was chilling, and the more it came out, the more static was lifted. Scout's body still felt numb and weak but he was starting to feel it!

Then he began to seize up. It started low, a tightness in his back, almost like a cramp, but it spread. Into and past his legs, arms, neck, and throat, everything tightened and twisted. His face was pulled into a grimace, teeth bared and unable to speak. Shaking as painful ripples traveled through his muscles and nerves. Scout couldn't stop, couldn't stop moving, couldn't take in a breath.

He wanted to stop. Stop it! Scout couldn't control himself, couldn't control his limbs. Couldn't stop! A gasp for air was pulled kicking and screaming from Scout's throat. The gasps continued into shallow breaths as the tremors dulled, and eased out, leaving the runner lying exhausted, immobile once more, and covered in a strange, freezing liquid.

Sleep hung heavy on his eyelids, but pain held Scout's consciousness more. M… Medkits. He needed his backpack, with the medkits. But he lay still, now paralyzed from fatigue rather than… whatever that thing did to him. Why, why did it even wear off? Sniper's hadn't worn off, Scout had to physically take white nerve things out in order for the marksman to move.

He blinked, and blinked some more to clear his sight. The room was still too dark to make anything but shadows out. But he knew where the door was. Grunting from the effort, Scout struggled to get to his elbows before dropping back down, panting. All his energy was sapped away.

D*mn.

Sniper was probably already gone and taking Scout's copycat along for the ride. Scout hissed out a string of curses. He had been through worse, just get up! Sniper wasn't going to wait, he needed to move. The runner pushed his shaking hand beneath him and pushed up, only to shake harder and fall again. He swore with volume.

"C'mon," Scout growled, wiping away the chilling liquid from his cheek, "C'mon, Scout, c'mon, you got this." He tried again, and managed to roll himself onto his back. Directly onto a pile of glass he hadn't seen. Scout's voice broke into silence halfway through his cry of pain.

He couldn't do it. No, no he could. No one was coming to help. There was no Scout coming to save him like Sniper had. No, he was by himself, again, which sucked, like the glass digging into his spine, but whining would do nothing.

Scout felt along the ground, blind. He felt glass, water, or maybe that liquid, fabric, and something else. It was weirdly shaped, and he snatched it up and pulled it towards his head.

He didn't know if the van's radio would pick it up, but it was the only thing he could think of. Besides, even if Sniper doesn't catch it, someone else might. Scout rotated the dial, wavelength squeals met his ears, and he brought the mic to his mouth.

"Mayday, mayday, this is da BLU Scout, radioin' from Sawmill Territory requestin' backup, does anyone copy? I repeat, this is da BLU Scout, radioin' from Sawmill Territory requestin' backup, does anyone copy? Over." Scout swallowed as he waited for a response. Seconds became moments, moments became minutes, and Scout tried again, not bothering to hide his situation.

"Mayday, mayday, this is da BLU Scout, me and da BLU Sniper are trapped in Sawmill's territory with an unknown bogy, I'm requestin' backup. I repeat, this is da BLU Scout, me and da BLU Sniper are trapped in Sawmill's territory with an unknown bogy, I'm requestin' backup. Does anyone copy? Over."

Static. Scout grit his teeth, growled, and snapped the mic back down.

"Listen, I don't know if someone's on da other side or not, but I'm sick of this. Basically a month of nothin', nothin' from anyone. Why do we hafta be da ones tryin' ta get into contact with you b*****ds? Can ya tell me dat? Why don't you come down and fix da mess you left!? We are ****in' human bein's! More than half of my team were massacred and da only other one is probably dead by now because of this, this monster, huntin' us down. Is anyone gettin' all a this? You listenin', you clipboard and screen watchin' freaks? It'll go for you next. It'll go for you next if it finishes me and Snipes off, so if anyone, anyone, is listenin', you should make dat pretty ****in' obvious right ****in' now!" He stopped his rant, breathing heavily. In his hand was the headset, dead. Dead, and useless. With a shout of fury, Scout lobbed the device away, hearing it crash against the wall.

Okay, new plan, getting the **** up. One last time, Scout put his palm flat against the ground, and pushed. His bicep was straining, and he began to shake once more. But slowly, ever so slowly, Scout was rising. But his energy was slipping, and slipping fast. The glass wounds were digging into his back and limbs. Bleeding freely.

Scout made it to his elbows when he spotted something. It was out of arm's length, but it was there. A small medkit. Out of arm's length, if he didn't have the Basher. Scout whipped his club towards the bottle, and knocked it towards himself. Rolling and rolling, he grabbed the little miracle medicine, and, pinning the bottle between the floor and himself using the crook of his arm, loosened the cap.

A lavender glow filled the room and a relief flooded the runner's weary body. Pain, exhaustion, it was all washed away. And from the purple light, Scout could see the mess around him.

Water, blood, and that mystery liquid coated the ground. The unknown stuff glistened, and covered Scout's hands and face when he scrubbed at it. It was pale, almost glowing, and it shimmered with every color of the rainbow in the light. It was also thick, almost a syrupy feel to it. Scout brushed aside his shirt and jacket to look at his bare shoulders. Sure enough, there were small holes, the same as Sniper's, leaking that suspicious fluid, and closing back up from the healing rays. Scout felt himself pale.

No, he- no thinking about that, Sniper had no idea what was going on, Scout had to find him and fast. The runner shot to his feet and darted into the door. Even faster than that, he was outside the room and in the hall with thousands of plans racing through his head. Of course, none made any sense, just feelings mostly. But one stood above the rest.

Scout wished he could make his heart stop beating so d*mn quick. He made to run before spotting his, no, Sniper's jacket. It was a mess. Stained, ripped, Sniper would kill him if he saw this. He couldn't afford to get on the marksman's bad side again, not when he needed every advantage. So, twisting out of the coat, Scout flipped the jacket inside out and put it back on. It looked near identical to before, so Scout could put off that conversation until they were safe.

Safe, Sniper, he had to go find him now. Scout swallowed, then swallowed again when his pulse shot up. His feet were itching to run, run away. Instead, the runner sped through the halls as quietly as he could. If that thing was trying to fool Sniper, trying to build his trust, then he couldn't let it know he was out and about. Both their lives were at stake. So he crept, and paused, and scouted out(ha) the areas before he entered them. Even though he knew it was worthless, Scout wished for the pseudo-safety of having a firearm.

Each creak of wood caused a hitch of breath, each eerie drone made him freeze up, each nagging feeling of being watched made the runner's heart rate skyrocket. But he still continued. Even when his lungs tightened and tightened, just like before, Scout didn't stop. He couldn't leave before getting Sniper.

And speak of the devil, there he was, chatting it up with Scout's copycat. Scout hid behind the corner, only just able to watch them. It wasn't attacking just yet. It was just… talking. And Sniper was none the wiser. Anger bubbled past the fear in Scout's mind.

Sniper turned somewhat to the right, and Scout could spot in his arms a hefty looking device. They found it. They found the Medigun. Gee, maybe Scout should have paid more attention when Spy was talking about reading lips.

Although, even from here, he could tell that the Medigun was the focus of their conversation from the way Sniper would gesture and Not-Scout would poke at the Anti-Weapon. Something was wrong, Scout could tell. Sniper was standing far too stiff, his frown was deeper than normal. Neither party seemed ready to move or separate from the other.

Then the roar returned.

No, it was far too horrible to be called that. Through the walls, through the wind and pouring rain, that cacophony of animalistic noise. Louder than before, closer. Scout bitterly wondered if Sniper still thought it was just the screams of horny fox.

Not-Scout said something to Sniper, and the pair began to speak louder, enough for Scout to make out the frustration in both their voices. Then, Sniper said something to Not-Scout and the other seemed to reluctantly nod. And miracle of miracles, the Not-Scout left, leaving Sniper alone, holding the Medigun. The marksman was turned away; now was his chance.

Scout crept towards his teammate, not making a sound. The closer he got, the more he could make out what Sniper was saying. He was grumbling about something.

"...upid bloody device." Scout heard before Sniper knelt to the ground and swung his backpack off his shoulders. He lay the Medigun on the ground and began to inspect the device. Scout made his entrance.

"Snipah," he whispered, "Snipah, dude, we have to leave right freakin' now!" Sniper didn't respond, continuing to look over the Medigun in silence. "Di.. Dude, did ya hear me, we have to go, it isn't safe here anymore!" Again, no reaction. Scout crept closer, three feet away from his companion.

"Snipah, it's back, it followed us, it found me and, y'know, so we hafta go right now! Snipah?" The marksman seemed to be ignoring Scout. Scout tapped his shoulder. "Snipah, can you hear me?"

A hand snatched his wrist.

Scout couldn't even gasp before he was yanked and thrown at the nearest wall. He collided and painful stars filled his vision. He slid down a centimeter before he was grabbed again, lifted, and pinned against the hard wall with an arm crushing his windpipe. The runner struggled to plant his feet and get a breath in. Then the cool of a blade grazed his cheek.

"You." Sniper seethed. "You have to be the dumbest ****ing monster to try and fool me again."

"Snipah, listen, I'm not da monster, it was da other S-ACH-" The pressure on his throat grew, and Sniper's eyes were blistering.

"Where is he?" The marksman growled, pressing the kukri's edge on the back of Scout's jaw. He swallowed. "Where did you hide him?"

"No, dude, ya don't get it, I was da one hid! I got loose, I can prove I'm real!" The last words were formless, the airways too tight to create sounds. Sniper's face twisted into something truly awful.

"Prove it, huh?" Scout nodded, or tried to, "There are two of you walking about, and last time Oi checked, you need the real ones in order to change." The pressure built again, "and ya can't leave them jus' walking about like free men. Don't know which one you are, but we'll have one less to worry about now." The corners of Scout's vision began to darken, and he felt the blade lift away from his jaw in order to give a mighty thrust into his gut.

He strangled out some sounds, something that sounded like another plea, another chance. Sniper seemed to get the message as his eyes narrowed, but his Kukri was stilled, its tip placed directly on Scout's hip.

"If you're a real human, you'll be able to spit. So do it." Okay, good, easy! Scout almost smiled at the task. Except his mouth had dried from all the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He stopped, tried to build up anything, any moisture. He licked his lips, bit his cheeks, sucking at the top of his mouth to produce anything. His already shallow breathing grew quicker. Sniper bared his teeth.

Scout couldn't even scream, it was just a rasping rush of air forced through his flattened throat when the blade shot into his side. It hurt, it hurt, and Scout collapsed to the ground like a string less puppet. He coughed for oxygen and clung to his side, feeling the warmth seep through his fingers. Medkit, Sniper's bag had some. Through burning blurriness, Scout spotted the bag, and dragged himself towards the backpack. The debris covered floor grated against his open wound, and Scout finally cried out in pain.

The bag was open thankfully, and it didn't take long to find the few remaining medkits. Scout grabbed one, leaving a wet crimson handprint, and tried to open it. He couldn't. He held it in the crook of his arm, trying to pop the cap open. It wouldn't open, his grip was too slick. The medkit shot from his arms when he pushed too hard, and rolled away, stopping at the feet of Sniper.

He was still holding the Kukri, now stained with Scout's blood, and standing stock still, staring at his blade. When the medkit tapped his boot, it seemed to snap Sniper into action. He snapped his gaze up, hidden from the aviators, before grabbing the medkit and rushing over to Scout.

"Believe me now, you son of a b***h?" Scout asked, too exhausted to make his words venomous. Sniper didn't respond as he grabbed Scout's hand and placed the medkit in it while popping open the top. A rush of ease filled Scout's nerves and when he felt at his side, it was nothing more than a oozing scratch. "Took ya long enough."

"How?" Sniper asked. When Scout looked at him, the shock was clear as day with the marksman's eyes wide and horrified. "H… How did it look like you?" Scout shook his head as he let Sniper pull him to his feet.

"I don't know."

"How did you escape? It strings ya up, you couldn't have-"

"It didn't! It just let me lyin' there, y-you could've just opened da door, I was right there-"

"You were!?"

"Yes!" Sniper didn't say anything. He only stood, staring at Scout in disbelief, before snatching off his shades and rubbing a shaking hand down his face.

"Oi was so sure," Scout heard from behind Sniper's hand, "Oi was so sure it was you. It didn't make sense, you were with me the whole time, and it didn't do anything." Sniper wasn't meeting Scout's gaze, "It didn't do anything, nothing, Oi was certain." Scout made to put a hand on Sniper's shoulder, but the Australian pulled away.

"Don't, don't touch," Sniper said, grabbing his bag off from the ground, turning away from the runner, "let's jus' go, Oi… that thing went to find whot was making that sound, said it was a bear. It could be back any moment."

He was so certain. It was just like an ornery Scout. And yet Scout stood before him, and it was so, so obvious now. Sniper wiped his kukri off on his pant leg, staining it red, before sheathing it.

"But it took my bag, I gotta get dat back!"

"Whot's more important, our bloody lives, or some material goodies?" Sniper hissed, glaring his companion down. Scout looked away. "We're going. Now."

He turned and marched down the halls, quietly as possible. Scout had grabbed the Medigun and tailed behind him. The other one had walked side by side, the real one walked behind. It was so obvious now, it wasn't the same Scout as the one behind him. It apparently took inspiration from before everything, when the runner was still an annoying little jack*ss. Not from now, with a more cautious, quieter Scout.

They were almost to the second level when they heard it. Instinctually, Sniper took his Machina out, eyes scanning the rooms for the noise. Past the Armory, past the Infirmary, past everything, when they heard someone calling out. Faster than lightning, Sniper snapped around and fired, hitting the figure standing at the end of the corridor. It screamed and fell, and Sniper heard Scout shout something to his right.

"Holy s**t!" Sniper reloaded his rifle, and aimed it at the creature again. It was still moving, still trying to speak. He fired. A thundercrack filled the base, rattling the foundation, and The Scout dropped again. But it was still moving. Ignoring the real Scout's protest's, Sniper stalked towards the body, reloading his rifle once again.

He managed to hit it's shoulder and chest. It was talking. Talking to him.

"No, no no no, wait, you don't get it, Mick, please-" The Scout's head snapped back from the force of the bullet, and red flesh painted the floor. It was still talking.

"I'm not da one you're after, I looked, I helped, please, I didn't even mean-" BANG! Scout's head snapped back again, the fourth bullet wound oozing a glistening crystal fluid, "I'm not da only one, anymore! You're wastin' time, wastin' bulle-" BANG! "I thought, I swear, I thought it was what I was supposed to do. My mission!" The jaw hung loose but it was still talking, still pleading with Sniper to listen. Sniper wouldn't. He reloaded his rifle again. And aimed.

"Please, Mick, I wanted a chance, I'm not da other one, I didn't do all of this, please." A faint ding met Sniper's ears. "I'm Jeremy too. I'm Jeremy too-"

The Scout's head exploded, coating the floor with bits and pieces. Sniper even felt some land on his face. Ears ringing from the volume of the fully charged shot, the marksman stood over the body, and stomped in the rest of the head, leaving it unrecognizable. It didn't move.

That's what it got for stinging him up. Sniper lowered his Machina, and finally, after a moment, he turned away from the corpse, and headed back. Not before grabbing Scout's backpack from off the ground. Then he met Scout's eyes. Neither spoke, but Scout was the one who looked away.

"Now let's go," Sniper broke the silence, shoving the bag into Scout's hand. He turned to head towards the staircase, but Scout wasn't moving.

"You didn't kill it."

"Excuse me?"

"You didn't kill it," Scout repeated, swinging his bag over his shoulders and never wavering from the corpse, "guns don't do s**t but slow it down." Sniper looked back at the body. It hadn't moved.

"Well then Oi must have slowed it down something fierce, now let's go, Scout." But the runner didn't move, so Sniper grabbed his arm. "We're leaving, come on."

"You won't make it." Scout said. Except his mouth didn't move. The corpse was speaking again. "He hates your guts; you won't make it. He'll have heard this; you won't make it." The pair watched as Not-Scout rose, as if it were possessed. The voice was changing, shifting into something monotone, and European. Sniper felt Scout beginning to back up. He did the same.

"You heard him, you heard… you won't make it unless you run." The head was growing back, with twisting flesh growing and morphing into Scout's face. The expression was morose. "Run, Jeremy. He hates you more. I'm telling you two to run."

"Yeah, dat's a good idea," Sniper felt Scout pulling on his arm, "Mick, we gotta go."

"Whot if it's a trap?" He asked, never looking away from Not-Scout, who was still telling them to run, "It bloody trapped you, it isn't trying to help us!"

"Help or not, it's right! We can't freakin' fight it, we can only run!" Scout grabbed Sniper's wrist and yanked him forwards. They were moving, but Sniper kept looking behind, watching the copycat. It wasn't following them, it wasn't doing anything but looking around the base. What was that thing?

"Sniper, c'mon!" Scout urged, pulling harder and eyes locked on the staircase, "Quit draggin' your feet, we can't have another Landfall!" No, no they couldn't. He turned towards Scout, and took the Medigun from the crook of his left arm. He shoved it into the runner's backpack, zipped it up, and-

"Oh dear, I've made quite a mess." The accented voice shot through the corridor. Sniper instantly spun around, whipping up The Machina. Out from the shadows at the far side of the hall, a slender figure came striding. With a bored expression, Spy looked around the room covered in flesh and matter. He tapped a piece with his shoes, looking disgusted. Not-Scout was backing up.

"Uh, hey!" He said cheerfully. Spy met the creature's gaze with his own cold one. Then Spy turned to look at the pair of humans. He chuckled.

"Well now," He almost purred, before stalking towards Not-Scout, who was cornered.

"Nonono!-"

"You imbecile!" Spy roared, grabbing Not-Scout's throat, causing the copycat to shriek at the grip. "You're a failure!" The pair were wrestling, becoming masses of fangs and limbs, but it was clear which one had the upper hand. The Counterfeit grew another pair of arms and pinned Not-Scout to the floor, grabbing his head as the other screamed in panic.

"NO, NO DON'T, PLEASE, DON'T!"

"SHUT UP!" It roared, before it shot its fingers into the other's eye sockets. That was when the pair ran.

"Go, go!" Sniper said to the faltering Scout. He jolted, then sprinted down the hall. Sniper was right on his heels. Behind them was the snapping of tendons, garbled growls, and screams. He did not dare look behind him. And it was a good thing Sniper didn't, otherwise he wouldn't have caught Scout when he tripped.

The marksman pulled his companion up, who couldn't seem to get his feet beneath him. Scout stumbled again, cursing, and was nearly dragged out of Sniper's grip. He slowed, but didn't stop.

"Get up, get up." He hissed, grabbing Scout's arm and ripping him up and to his feet, ignoring the cry the manhandling got. They shot down the stairs, with Scout skipping the entire second flight and landing on his feet. The Counterfeit wasn't tailing them just yet, it was still preoccupied with its clone. It was halfway through the second floor when the weight of this development hit Sniper like a pump action shotgun.

"There's two. There's two."

"Yeah, ya said dat before when ya shanked me," Scout said between breaths. Sniper shook his head, heart racing from the adrenaline rush, running, and the information racing through his head.

"The other had followed us. It followed us the entire bloody time." He panted, risking a glance behind him, "How!?"

"I don't freakin' know, quit askin' questions and focus on runnin', alright?" Scout growled, shooting ahead and turning a corner. When Sniper followed, he watched as the runner dove into the collapsed stairwell. A part of him held back a breath when Scout disappeared from sight, but it was far too small, and it was gone before Sniper had time to think. There was no time to think, no time to be cautious. He slid through after. The wood littered ground gave little cushioning as Sniper landed hard. Hissing through clenched teeth, he watched as Scout broke into a dead sprint and leapt over the enormous hole they barely managed to cross.

He almost didn't make it. Sniper had watched Scout's first step slip from the grimy floor and almost shouted when he fell. And if Scout didn't manage to catch himself on the ledge and push off from the slope of the broken floor beneath, he would have been swallowed by that horrible abyss in the middle of the ground. Sniper pushed himself to his feet, and froze when the choir of fury seeped through the walls. Scout looked around in a frenzy before locking on Sniper, and beckoning.

"Come on!" He shouted, "you have ta jump!"

"Are you bloody crazy!?" Sniper shouted back, "Oi can't make that jump! You say it yourself!"

"I'll catch you, just do it, we don't have time!" Indeed, the sounds of speeding footsteps were growing by the second. Sniper looked back and forth between Scout and the chasm, judging the distance, and Scout's strength.

He wouldn't be able to make it.

Sniper darted over to the ledge they used. It looked even thinner than before. But what other choice did he have? Ears filling with encroaching noise, Sniper stepped onto the ledge and felt the ground break.

"CAREFUL!" Scout shrieked as Sniper stumbled back only just in time. The ledge broke piece by piece, along with Sniper's hope. He locked eyes with Scout's. There was no hidden motive, no purposeful lie, nothing but a foolish idea, a fool's hope.

But it was a hope nonetheless.

"You better bloody catch me," Sniper said, fixing his gaze on the ledge he would use as a jumping point and packing away his rifle. On the other end, Scout planted his feet, waiting and watching. Oh, this was a bad idea. The bloody worst. And what made it the worst was the fact that there was nothing Sniper could think of that was better! So he backed up, desperately trying to ignore the shaking of the base, the frantic beatings against his ribcage, and focused on the distance. He backed up more, a bit more, then bolted. And kicked off from the ground and over the chasm. Scout shot out his hand to grab Sniper's.

Their fingers brushed, and Sniper's heart dropped.

He misjudged the distance.

The rush of wind filled Sniper's ears along with a shout of despair and sudden pain shot through his middle when he collided with the sloped floor. Scrambling for a ledge, a foothold, anything! He slipped further and faster until he hung in the open air, only hanging on by his forearms.

"Don't move!" Scout said, dropping to his stomach to reach him. Sniper lifted his hand to grab the runner's. He dropped and grabbed the creaking floor again. "I said don't move!"

"That's kind of bloody hard to do!" He sputtered, all his energy focused on trying to pull himself up. Scout was just out of reach, inching forwards.

"Look, I gotcha," he reassured, "I gotcha." They were almost there, only centimeters apart. Then the floor erupted into noise, and broke.

"MICK!" Sniper was falling when Scout shot forward. And for a horrible moment, both were in the open air. But something grabbed his wrist, and the force at which Sniper stopped nearly ripped his arm from his socket. He cried out in pain, but it was nothing compared to Scout's.

"You awright?" He managed to say after accidentally looking down. Scout didn't respond. "Scout?"

Something warm hit Sniper's cheek, and when he went to wipe it away, his hand came smeared with a faint red. He looked up.

Scout had a vice-like grip on his wrist, and the only thing keeping them from dropping was the Boston Basher Scout had tied to his other arm. Its spikes were lodged in the wood and stuck firm. The bandages around Scout's arm were slowly growing red, and a trail of blood was creeping down and dripping.

Oh no.

"I'm okay," The runner croaked, "I'm okay."

"Do you think you can pull me up?" Scout went quiet, but Sniper felt the grip begin to shake and the strain in his arm grow. But it stopped almost as soon as it started.

He saw Scout shake his head.

"Okay, okay," Sniper looked around, searching for a foothold within reach along the stone walls. There were some, one even held his Machina that had slipped off when he jumped, but all were too far away. Scout was in the same boat it seemed. So the only way they'd get onto solid ground, would be if Scout could pull them up. His heart sank.

"Oh, now would ye look at that?" A Scottish voice rang out, obviously amused. Sniper looked up towards the fallen staircase. From the dark, he spotted someone watching with a single, glinting eye. Demoman leaned over the chasm, tutting. His leg grew in length, longer and longer, until he was able to step over the hole like it was nothing. Sniper felt Scout's grip shake again.

Demoman crouched by the ledge, looking at the pair of them, smiling. Then he locked eyes with Sniper. He huffed a laugh, and gestured towards the Machina.

"A lotta good dat gun didja, huh?" The man's black skin shifted and wavered into a paler tone. His deep brown eye bled into a pair of raging ocean blue. And in no time at all, a smug Scout looked down at the pair, smirking.

"Yo, what's up?"

Sniper glanced towards his rifle and reached. Just out of range. He felt himself slip. Looking up, he spotted both Scouts staring at each other. He did not like the look the fake one was giving the real one.

"Remember me?" It sang with a Cheshire grin, leaning on its left hand. The appendage was grossly pale, and looked dried out. He heard Scout whimper as he slipped more.

"Scout!" Sniper shouted, grabbing the runner's wrist. "Mate, don't-"

"All of this is your fault and you know it!" The Scout shouted over the marksman, keeping Scout's attention on it and it alone. " Every. Little. Thing. It's all your fault!" The words were venomous and biting. Sniper clung to Scout's arm for dear life when the runner's grip was near extinct.

"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." It was morphing, twisting the longer it spoke. Faces and heads of teammates grew into view, hateful, growling. And all of them were directed at Scout. Sniper reached for the Machina. It was slightly above him. His finger just grazed its barrel. "Everything here is what you deserve after what you did." Scout's grip just kept loosening, and Sniper was dropping.

"Jay!" He shouted over the chorus of voices. His teammate snapped his eyes down and locked it with Sniper's. They were glassy. "Jay, don't let go, lad."

"Ṟ̸́̈͗͘e̶̖̓a̷̪͕͔̖̕d̸̩͈̽́́͒y̸̨̨̋̀ ̷̖͉̀̔͘͝f̷͔̑o̶̡̥̙͙͛̔r̴̬̠̂̀ ̷̤̩̽̈͜R̸̢̼̣̞̔́͂ŏ̴͉͍͕̎u̵̫͔̅̂̆͊n̷̠͍̤͎̚d̴͓͎̥̉̅̈͠ ̷̬̙̻̯̐̈́́T̴̡̩͈̲̏̒̉w̵͈̗̤̟͐̋̒͘o̵̢̻̫̭͂?̷̨̰̆̓̌͠" The Counterfeit bared thousands of teeth. Scout's attention was being stolen again.

"Jay." Sniper pleaded, tightening his grip, "Please! Please don't let go!" The runner's eyes darted back and forth between the monster and the marksman. They stopped to meet Sniper's. Then hardened.

The grip on Sniper's wrist fastened into something painful and unbreakable. And he felt himself get lifted closer bit by bit to the Machina.

He reached and snatched the rifle's barrel, throwing it up and grabbing it by its grip. Raising it towards the shapeshifter, The Counterfeit caught sight of the rifle pointed at it, and laughed.

"Well ain't that a cute little gun," it mused, before grabbing the Boston Basher and wiggling it to loosen them. They were running out of time. But what would shooting it do besides p*ss it off more? Sniper looked for any sign of a weak point in the twisting flesh. There was none. A light droplet of water fell onto his forehead. He looked past The Counterfeit, who was trying to torment Scout again, and spotted something.

A light but steady trail of water was falling from a noticeable crack in the ceiling above them. Sniper aimed,

And fired.

Time slowed.

An explosion of sound, kickback, and water flooded the room. The Counterfeit was doused and it screamed. The Machina flew from Sniper's hand and clattered down the abyss. And it was far too late to do anything as he felt himself and Scout begin to fall.

The strength of the kickback had shot Sniper down, and with Scout's grip being so tight, it had ripped the runner off of The Boston Basher.

Sniper gasped, Scout screamed, as the pair were consumed by the freezing darkness below.