The juxtaposition of the muted gray colors of the landscape and roof against that blinding vermillion stung his eyes. But he couldn't look away. Couldn't turn his head away from that growing pool surrounding him, seeping into his clothes. Its warmth, fading into a soft but bitter cool. A warmth blisteringly hot against his hands, holding his reddening jacket against that far redder hole. But that sweltering heat faded too, leaving his palms dripping wet and his mind to grow colder and colder along with the body.
Everything was so gray now. It was quiet too. The bad kind. Pyro didn't like it. Didn't like it one bit.
Starting fires helped push back the dullness. Pyro would start fires, just baby ones using wood, grass, anything. Anything besides those bits of meat Medic stole and wouldn't let Pyro burn. Besides that, fires would burn everywhere, only baby ones, ones that couldn't dance and mature into something utterly wonderful that would forever push away Sawmill's grayness. But those weren't allowed, not yet. Engie had told Pyro that no big fires were allowed at the base, especially not when they were salvaging their belongings to be moved to Harvest. At Harvest Pyro could burn as much as the firebug wanted, and Pyro could be patient, so itty bitty baby fires would do.
Though the fires didn't seem to help the team as much as Pyro hoped. The small glowing rainbows and bubbles weren't cheering up Pyro's friends. And it didn't cheer the pyromaniac up much either. The colors, once mesmerizing, still felt too dull. It was probably the rain; nasty stuff, always ruining Pyro's dancing rainbows.
Pyro sighed, sitting cross legged and watching the little baby fire the lighter made. It wasn't raining, but the colors were still too dull. And Pyro's friends were dull too. On the platform everyone was on, people were talking quietly, and whenever people talked quietly, that meant they were talking about bad things. Sad things. No one was laughing like they normally would when talking about stuff, instead it was dull, just like everything else.
A train was supposed to come around in about another ten minutes to take them all to Harvest. Pyro's eyes closed, dreaming of those mountain sized fires that will be made once the team reaches that dry, yellow place. Yellow wasn't the best color, Pyro liked orange, but it was close enough. Yellow meant happiness, and warmth, like their fires. Hopefully that yellow place would bring some happiness into Pyro's gray friends.
It wasn't all the same shade, but everyone was muted, duller. Some were darker than others, some lighter. Pyro was one of the lighter shades, having some blue still glowing through the gray of the asbestos suit. Engie, Soldier, and Medic were around the same grayness of Pyro. Medic used to be darker, but he lightened up when they found his doves yesterday after gathering up the team's things. Those pretty, fluffy birds that Pyro loved, Medic was so happy when his birds turned out to have made their home in the forest around the base. They had escaped the attack of that gross thing. Pyro hated that thing. And that thing burned, both of them. One by Pyro, the other by Scout. The pyromaniac slouched, mood dropping.
Scout had come down a scribbled out shape. Pyro only knew it was Scout because the others had said it was him. Sniper was almost scribbled out too, those black pencil marks covering nearly every part of him. That was scary. At least Sniper wasn't permanently scribbled out like Scout. The taller man wasn't on the platform with them. He was driving to Harvest. Pyro flicked the lighter's fire back on when it was snuffed out by the wind. The firebug wished Sniper had stayed a bit longer; the man had been one of the darkest shades Pyro saw. Up there with Spy. Not to the same level but a very close second. Pyro hugged him, like Spy, but he didn't seem to like that at all. Sniper only stiffened and refused to budge, refusing to even look at Pyro until he was let go. Fire might have worked better at cheering the taller man up than a hug. If he only stayed long enough to see Pyro's fire…
Fire makes people feel good. Fire covered all those nasty thoughts of scribbled blacks messes away. Fire covered everything. And yet…
The firebug sighed again, the sound one Pyro didn't like to make often. Where was the train? Being around all this gray and water and sadness was… itchy. The team probably felt the same. They huddled around their belongings that weren't destroyed by Sawmill's water. Poor Engie's blueprints were far too gone to be saved, along with one of Heavy's books that he seemed really glum about losing. One pile of belongings didn't belong to anyone on the platform. Those belongings belonged to Scout. There wasn't much, and what was there was going to be sent back to his home. His scribbled out body would be going back too. Miss Pauling was taking care of that. Poor Miss Pauling, she was a deep gray too. And she would have to go all that way to Scout's home to put his stuff away, like his body. It was by the ocean, right? Pyro shuddered. The ocean, nasty business. The firebug stared deeper into the lighter, forcing those thoughts away.
A faint whistle far away nabbed Pyro's attention from the baby fire, snapping around to find the noise maker. The others did the same, straightening up and ending quiet conversations. A minute passed and the faint tower of pastel colors rising from the treeline made Pyro jump up, clapping for joy.
"About time, it should've been here a month ago," Engie hummed as Pyro ran to his side, tugging his sleeve. "Yeah, yeah, Ah see it, Py, Ah see it." Pyro paused, then deflated. Engineer was still gray, he wasn't excited about that pretty tower of bubbles and light, he didn't get happy by Pyro being happy. Maybe that was because of the mask. Smiles were contagious, but Pyro's couldn't be seen. The firebug let go of Engie's sleeve, instead standing at his side silently. Just like everyone else. In Pyro's hand, the baby fire pilfered out from a gust of wind. Pyro deflated even more at the lack of color in the now gray world.
There was no color in the team, no color coming from the train when it stopped, no color in Pyro. Pyro sniffled.
Harvest couldn't come soon enough. Fire couldn't come soon enough. Pyro continued to sniffle as the team boarded the train with other faceless persons grabbing everyone's things. The lighter wasn't allowed to be used on it, Engie's orders. Pyro would listen, but the firebug didn't need to like it.
The trip was long and dull and quiet. Pyro only sat still, hunched over and brooding. The urge to burn everything and everyone to make them all colorful again was a strong one.
Pandemonium. Panic. He shouldn't feel panic. Panic gets people killed. Yet that panic tightened its possession of him. Panic over that heavy dead weight he couldn't let go. That smell of red coated his senses, leaving nothing but the sensation of his heartbeat pounding against his chest, threatening to burst. He couldn't feel a heartbeat from his charge. The panic grew.
Team meetings were such a pain in the rear. The evening light seeping in through the windows of the hall Engineer was walking down created golden squares glowing on the floor. If he wasn't wearing his goggles, he was sure he'd go blind in his left eye because of those darn sunbeams. And the only reason why they were shining through was due to the time of day, that being five o' clock in the afternoon, and that meant he was going to be late for the meeting he had called.
Of course he'd have to be the one to take initiative. Yes, he was only one of two men Miss Pauling talked to about the new information, but it would be nice for Medic, the other man, to come out from his pet projects and gather up the team for him. Well, no, that wasn't completely fair, the two of them had been busy the moment they stepped foot in Harvest. And it was only two days ago that either of them had any moment of time to themselves. Well, Medic had the time, the Texan had to use that time to fix some faulty fuse boxes, redraw some schematics, keep Pyro entertained so that he didn't start a bushfire, replace some plumbing in the sinks around the base so they wouldn't leak, reprogram his sentries to be able to shoot flesh-wearing troublemakers, though that was still a work in progress. Fixing the fridge's lighting, tightening the windows' bolts and locking mechanisms, keeping Pyro from burning the base down with them inside it when Heavy wanted them to stay inside for safety reasons, installing a Mini Sentry to the main entrances' thresholds, finally doing all those boring tasks he's been putting off for weeks, or months to be frank. From dawn to dusk there was always something to do. Usually. So Engineer could understand the want to isolate and work that the doctor might have had, he felt it himself, it just so happened that things needed to get done, and those things he wasn't looking forward to announcing to the group. Calm or not, he'd at best get met with disbelief and at worst… he couldn't really think of a worse way the meeting could turn besides maybe getting laughed at.
Having his creations be shot down or downright made fun of before he got the chance to explain them always got the Texan in a rotten mood, one that would last longer than it ever should. Honestly, his mood hadn't been all that great in the first place, that sour spite just simmering for now. Though it was starting to bubble since he was running late and dead-to-rights exhausted.
The builder kept his complaints and temper to himself, though, because it would do literally no one any sort of good to voice them, even if he was alone. Besides, he'd been the one to try and find the drunk bomber, even though Soldier had left after himself and found Demoman, making Engineer's little task utterly pointless and thus making him late. Well, as long as Medic didn't decide to start in his stead, the team could wait a minute.
The Texan sighed, picking up his pace. No, that crazy German had a fifty-fifty chance of taking the reins and giving announcements, and the man did not have a good enough bedside manner to deliver the news to their still stunted team. A team still recovering from the effects of being spun up and locked awake for over a month.
An entire month of their lives, gone, treated as nothing more than a small blip in the complex mechanical systems they call life. He couldn't remember a thing in all that time, it just didn't exist, like a missing data point that you can't fill because you never knew what was supposed to be there in the first place.
It was frustrating. Frustrating that he couldn't remember a thing when others could. It was a dream he just couldn't seem to recall. Spy, Medic, and for some darn reason Soldier could remember that month and how it passed both agonizingly slow and horrifyingly fast. Everyone else, including himself, didn't. Well, besides Sniper, that is.
Finally, the fine oak doors of the Meeting Room came to view. The Texan rolled back his shoulders, and pushed the doors open. Inside was the rest of the team and the smell of nicotine, and thankfully, Medic wasn't taking charge. Instead he was petting one of his doves, Engineer couldn't tell which one it was.
The others were gathered around the room, either sitting in the stiff chairs facing the wall sized whiteboard/projector screen or leaning on one of the walls. Heavy was stationed by Medic, talking in low tones about something Engineer couldn't make out. Demo and Soldier were also sitting together, mostly due to Soldier holding the drunken man up to keep him from slipping off his seat. Pyro waved at him and instantly went back to staring intensely at his lighter, flicking the flame off and on. Spy was keeping to himself, sitting alone, smoking, and in the far corner. As for Sniper, he chose to lean on the wall, biting a nail. Well, at least the somber men were all together for once this past week.
Engineer clapped his hands, garnering the attention of the team.
"Alrighty, glad ta see y'all got the memo. Got some important things ta announce."
"Ve didn't have a choice," Medic groaned, the annoyed fatigue plainly written on his face, "Soldier vouldn't take nein for an answer."
"I never do!" Soldier agreed.
"Well, even if ya do know whut's whut, it's good ta get ya away from whutever experiment you've been workin' on the past two days." Engie pointed out. As Heavy nodded in agreement, the Texan heard Medic mumble "you're one to talk…". Yeah, fair enough, he had his own checklist of things he would rather be doing besides this, but this needed to be done today.
"Anyways, there's goin' ta be some rather important shake ups comin', fellas," that got people's attention. Everyone looked towards him either in confusion or skepticism. Engineer cleared his throat. This wasn't going to be easy.
"Ah've been told by our employers that our neighbors of the RED variety have all been let off. Effective immediately."
"Why?" Heavy asked. Even Spy seemed surprised by the news.
"While our… incident happened, apparently the RED Team thought it a good idea ta unionize in our absence. Ah ain't got the foggiest idea why, but the Administrator caught wind of their plans and cut ties with the entire team."
"Waittt, all a them?" Demo drunkenly replied after finally waking up "that's nine experienced mercenariessss missing, who're we supposed to fight, then?" Engie met Medic's eyes and sighed.
"Well, each other, startin' the day after tomorrow," around him the room's quiet air was brimming with frantic whispers and shared, nervous glances. Over the building noise Engineer tried to continue his announcement. "Four of us will be on each team fer the foreseeable future while Miss Pauling finds and hires new blood."
"How's that supposed to bloody work?" Demo barked, raising his voice and bottle to be the everyman, "do they want more empty positions to fill?"
"Now, Ah know this sounds counterproductive, but we've been commissioned ta create a solution that will change everything," Engineer nodded at the doctor, who sat up straighter. The Texan gave a smile in order to sell the news.
"The Administrator doesn't want a repeat of the past month or so, and despite the good pay, new mercenaries are a finite resource, especially ones with any amount of good experience under their belts. So, in order to save time, money, and lives," he let the last word hang a little while, watching the team's reactions. Soldier and Demo perked up, Heavy raised an eyebrow, Spy didn't react, and Sniper looked away, "me and the doc have created a kind of failsafe that will change our little war forever."
"What is it?!" Soldier shouted, utterly enthralled with the news, "bombs? Nuclear warheads? Sasquatch's mother!?"
"We finished it around two days ago after a good week of plannin' and staving off sleep, and Ah've been takin' care ta hammer out any and all bugs and errors." His hand rested right by his hoister, harboring his pistol he took everywhere, "Ah even tested it on myself ta see if it works, after some other tests of course."
"What is it!?" Soldier shouted even louder, forcing Demo to cover his ears with a scowl.
"It's… well, Ah think it's best if Ah just show y'all just what this little failsafe does," Engineer said, locking his eyes on his oblivious target. Then, faster than a whip crack, Engineer snatched his pistol and shot Sniper right between the eyes. His head snapped back and the man was dead before he hit the ground.
The room erupted into chaos.
Every man stood, knocking their chairs over from the speed. Panicked curses and swears and hands for wringing his neck aimed for the Texan. Luckily for Engineer, Soldier was stopped from doing so by Demo and Pyro, though the men were also upset.
"Whot did yeu do!?" Demo cried, staring at the body of their sharpshooter. Pyro was frantically crying out in incoherent sounds, looking back and forth at Engineer and his dirty deed.
"-YOU BENEDICT ARNOLD!-"
"-What's wrong with you!?-"
"-already down a Scout, do we need ta be dewn a Sniper too!?-"
"Everyone, please, calm down!" Medic raised his voice over the panicking mercenaries, his dove flying to his shoulder, "despite vhat it seems, Engineer hasn't gone mad, though he could have gone about this much differently." The German gave him a harsh stare down before turning back to meet their team's distrustful eyes.
"Fat chance! He team killed! A traitor to the cause!" Soldier spat back, still reaching to try and wring Engineer's neck. "I will not have my men execute our own without so much as looking him in the eyes to do it!"
"Ah, but Sniper wasn't executed," Medic's face lit up into that familiar fierce excitement. An unnerving sight, to be sure, but it was exactly what their team needed to see at the moment. Heavy calmed first, and the rest followed suit though that distrust was still there.
"Not executed? HA! Then explain why Sniper is pushing up daisies over there-" Soldier pointed to where Sniper was. Key word being "was". The team once again raised their cursing, panicked voices at the sight of Sniper, or lack thereof. He was gone, with nothing but a blood stain, hat, and broken aviators perfectly snapped in two to prove he was ever there at all. Engineer frowned. Alright, so he'll need to make some more adjustments. At least the man's actual clothes weren't left behind like his own had been.
"Whot witchcraft is this!?" Demo shouted, patience running dangerously low. Engineer and Medic made to speak, but Spy beat them to it.
"It isn't magic, or so I assume. And if you continue to barf out meaningless dribble at the same rate as your actual meals," Spy locked Demo in an icy glare, "I'll make sure you're going to be the second man sent to wherever the pathetic bushman was." The Frenchman pushed past the silenced and slightly hurt Scotsman and crouched by the crime scene, picking up the hat left behind.
"I believe that you 'ave an explanation for your sudden lust for blood besides, understandably, wanting Sniper dead." Spy's tone was indifferent, but the fire in his eyes was directed solely at Engineer, and couldn't be interpreted as anything other than "Explain now or else.".
"...Our friendly neighborhood Sniper was killed, yes," Medic shushed the team's building outrage as Engineer continued, "but not permanently. Medic an' Ah have built a machine that can bring us, all of the men here, back ta life."
"How?" Heavy asked, "this is impossible."
"Not anymore," Engineer grinned, "it's like a computer of sorts with us actin' as files. See, our current states a bein' have been scanned, copied, and logged into the database we've created. Whenever something terrible happens ta us, be it an injury or disease that would normally be fatal, should we die the machine erases our current physical forms and replaces it with the ones it saved."
"Sounds like Australian technology," Heavy rumbled, "how are these "files" saved?"
"I implanted a chip in your brainstems!" Medic declared, hands on hips and completely oblivious to the indignant stares and glares he got in return. That, or he just didn't care. "During your monthly checkups on Vednesday."
"I dinnae remember that!" Demo retorted.
"You don't remember a lot of things, mein friend." Medic pointed out. Demo pointed at the doctor with a look that said he was about to argue the doctor's statement. But then he shrugged, said "Aye, fairrr enough.", and took a swig of his scrumpy.
"Though, I vould like to point out zat each time you recover from an illness or disease, it's best to get a new file made in order to keep the antibodies you create."
"And how long would that take?" Heavy asked.
"Around an hour, not zat long."
"Sniper is still not back," Soldier barked. Sure enough, the marksman was still missing.
"Well, he should be headin' back here," Engineer said, rubbing the back of his head. "Afterall, his hat got left behind."
"Where was Sniper sent?"
"His van. While a Respawn Room is in construction, all your spawn points have been linked ta your dorms." The Texan paused, looking towards the pyromaniac that was tugging his sleeve, mumbling a question. "Whut's up, Py?"
Pyro gestured and mumbled a bit louder, his tone concerned. Engineer listened and then realized what she was talking about. He gathered his thoughts, and formulated an answer.
"Well, yeah, we will at some point need a scout," Engineer said evenly, "but whoever it'll be will have ta be hired after another team is found."
"Is it because teams would be uneven with new scout?" Heavy asked.
"That's half of it," Engineer explained, "and, ta be frank with y'all, one of the reasons why we were told to make the Respawn, is due ta Scout. Apparently, uh, applicants fer that class are hard ta come by-"
"Now that's a load a tttripe!" Demo blurted, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "scouts are cannon fodder! There ssssshould be bucket loads a tha wee sprites!" Engie sighed at the drunk man in front of him once again interrupting. That seemed to be more common the more Demo drank. Spy, once again, spoke up as he lit a cigarette.
"It's ze speed, you drunk fool," he said, voice quiet but words biting. "Our employers could 'ire any reckless grunt off ze streets who know how to pull a trigger to be a mercenary. But they don't because ze scout class requires agility and velocity alongside ze ability to handle brutish weaponry. Perhaps if you had any form of self control, your mind wouldn't have ze cognitive strength of a clay brick and you'd 'ave discerned that yourself!"
"Don't yeu lecture me aboot self control, ye cancer-ridden kelpie!" Demo shot back, stomping over to the Frenchman, who narrowed his already narrowed eyes in disgust at either Demo deciding to stand up to the man or by the Scotsman's alcohol laced breath. It could be both.
But the pair couldn't get close, as both Heavy stepped between them with a look one would give as a final warning before pain befell everyone, and Medic spoke up, stealing away their attention.
"Ah, Sniper, you've returned! And in one piece!" Every merc turned to the entrance. And sure enough, there stood Sniper, hand still on the doorknob. With the absence of his sunglasses, Engineer got the first clear look of the man's eyes in what felt like ages.
Sniper had frozen from the sudden attention, eyes the widest Engineer had seen all week. He looked dazed and horribly lost. The Texan cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to himself.
"Well, there you have it, fellas, proof as clear as a late summer sky. How ya feelin', son?" Engineer asked Sniper as the marksman stepped over to the group.
"Got a headache," the man mumbled. He kept his gaze towards the ground as he took back his hat from Spy. Engineer laughed weakly.
"Yeah, there's still some slight tweaks Ah need ta make, but yer alive, and, as the doc said, in one piece." Sniper only nodded, picking up his broken glasses. Engineer's smile fell.
"Aw h*ll," he started, watching the Australian look over his aviators, "well Ah can help y-"
"So we cannot die?" Soldier butted in, bucket helmet spinning like a top from speed at which he launched himself to stand only two inches away from the Texan's face. Engineer nodded.
"While yer on base you'll come back if ya do, yeah, but don't go killin' yerselves just ta test it out, this is new tech, not ta mention a prototype-"
"I am going to kill myself!" Soldier shouted before mischievously snickering and snapping his own neck. He dropped dead.
"...Well, if that is all this meeting 'as to offer, I will be taking my leave, much like ze bushman." Spy said before taking a drag and fading into heat waves until that too disappeared into pure invisibility. Engineer sighed. Yup, that was all the important news he had to share.
"Bloody noxious wisp," Demo growled before drinking.
"Alright, men, meetin' adjourned. That's everything ya need ta know." Engineer stated. At that, his team were free to do as they please. That thing being talking to Medic about either those chips he implanted or Respawn. Heavy and Pyro were talking to the doctor, Demo was busy drinking, Soldier's body hadn't be erased yet, Spy was gone, and Sni-
Did Spy say Sniper left? Sure enough, there was no lanky Australian in the room. D*mnit.
"Hey, Stretch!" Engineer called as he trotted out the Meeting Room. Oh, he just caught him. Sniper was at the far end of the hall, no doubt off to do Sniper things that would lead to no one seeing him for hours, even days. The marksman thankfully heard him and was polite enough to stop for the Texan to catch up.
When Engineer reached his side, he got an even better look at the taller man's eyes. His old man would often say that eyes were the windows to the soul, and fair enough, you could tell a whole heaping lot about someone just by the certain lights and looks in their eyes. Maybe that was one reason why he wore his goggles near day in and day out. Maybe that's why Sniper wore his aviators. Because keeping eye contact with the Australian was difficult without that familiar glass between them.
Frostbite gray. A cold, light shade of gray that was as piercing as the marksman's bullets. And right now, even though Sniper wore a neutral face, that frost in his eyes was biting Engineer and biting hard. The man was angry.
"Ah'd like ta apologize fer shootin' ya back there," Engineer said, forcing himself to keep eye contact even with his goggles, "Ah shouldn't have done that without permission, and Ah'm mighty sorry for puttin' ya through the Backups like that." Sniper was quiet for a time before shrugging.
"Giving a head's up would've jus' put me on edge and expect something. Probably best the way you did it." Was his voice always that rough? Yes, Sniper had a natural bit of gravel to his voice, but he sounded hoarse now. A side effect of Respawn, perhaps? He'd have to look into it.
"So yer not upset about me killin' you?" Engineer asked. Sniper only shrugged again.
"Said this would be a permanent feature of the war, now, so might as well get the first one over with."
"Well, if you say so," the Texan replied. "But still, Ah'd like ta fix those," he pointed to the snapped shades in Sniper's hand, "ta make up for it." Again, Sniper just shrugged.
"If ya want, could always buy another pair, it's jus' an accessory."
"Well Ah do want to, so give 'em here," Sniper dropped the pieces in Engineer's hand. "They'll be fixed by mornin'."
"Awright." The marksman turned to leave.
"Ya also missed some other parts of the meetin'," Engineer said to the taller man, "that until a new team is found and hired, we won't be gettin' a new scout anytime soon." Sniper again was silent. And stayed silent for longer than was comfortable.
"...Good," he finally said, voice even rougher than before. "Having uneven teams wouldn't be fair." Then Sniper left, and Engineer was left standing, holding the broken sunglasses the man let him have. He sighed. He would be lying if he said that his own feelings about the scout had vanished, but he'd keep them tucked away; it would do no one any good to voice them, even if he was alone.
Besides, there were glasses to fix, things to build, tweaks to make, bugs to iron out, defenses to stack, a team to repair, and none of that left room for such pointless thoughts.
His throat was dry. The adrenaline left nothing for him to swallow. He didn't want to anyway; the copper hung too heavy in the air. It hung too heavy on him, like the red mess in his arms. Talking felt like an impossible challenge. But he spoke anyway to get the doc's attention, his throat thumping in pain. His throat was so dry. So dry…
Demoman slammed the door behind him, grumbling before taking a swig from a beer bottle he snatched from the kitchen. He didn't need to listen to the two inside, he was a grown man, a killer of men! If he wanted to have twenty beers before dinner today, then by thunder he was going to! And no amount of whining and scolding would change his mind about that!
The beer was bland, hardly anything but water to the Scotsman. And water did not a parched throat hydrate! But he'd run out of scrumpy, and whiskey, and tequila, and even champagne. So taking the beer in the team's fridge was fair game, and so what if it was Engineer's stash, he owed the Demoman this after today's battle. Demo groaned. He could still feel the wounds Respawn fixed. Blasted American and his pet Pyro.
Fresh evening air along with the overcast sky lightened both the Scotsman's mind and dizziness. He turned and glared at the base he exited. Those teammates of his could drown for all he cared. There were only four of them and those two always made the calls. Did they ever ask for opinions or perspectives on how to defend their captured point? Nope! Because obviously Engie knew best even though he and Demo were the defense classes on the team. And of course Pyro always backed Engie up. Now if Soldier was on their team he'd take Demo's side because the patriot actually valued his views and experience. But he was on the BLU team, not RED. Or h*ll, if he were still alive Scout would-
Demoman took a very long drink, not stopping until the clouds seemed to spin. Nope. No complicated thoughts today, thank you. All he needed to feel right now was drunk, not some weird cocktail of sad, anger, more sad, and something he was too ashamed to admit he felt at the death of a teammate. He might be crass, but that certain emotion was too far for even Demo to claim.
He sighed as the glass bottle in his hands no longer sloshed. Empty. If only he had rationed his alcohol, then he wouldn't have to resort to such weak drinks. He could call his mum and ask her to send some family brand liquor. But what kind of son does that to his mum who sat worrying about her sole decedent's fate for over a month? She'd been in hysterics when he finally found the time to call, and he wouldn't call just to ask for something he could make due without. Mostly. There was the beer, and he would make do.
Demo leaned against the base's wall, watching the overcast clouds slowly drag themselves across the grand expanse. It was a dreary day. All the days were dreary. And everyone felt it, he knew, he could tell. On the battlefield, the teams would make fewer jabs, take lives quicker than drawing them out. Even Soldier and Pyro, the two who always seemed to exist on a plane of existence happier than the others, were somber. Perhaps it was because Demo refused to play "Rocket Ball" with Pyro whenever the masked merc asked. Perhaps Soldier was disappointed that Demo would refuse to hang out unless blackout drunk. Well, a man has needs, and his needs were only met with a fine bottle of rum.
But he still didn't like seeing them sad, Soldier was his friend after all. Demo looked around the base with a bored gaze. Then his eye widened when he caught sight of his remaining teammate.
Spotting Sniper on the battlefield was already rare, but the bloody sharpshooter was really making himself scarce as of late. And to see him sitting by his van, out in the open, was enough for Demoman to trot over. Sniper was fletching some arrows, fixing the feathers and sharpening the arrowheads. He didn't look up when Demo plopped himself down at his side on the hay bale Sniper sat on. Well that was okay, Demo was just happy to finally see the man outside of work.
"Ye bbbbbloody hermit, where've ye been, lad? It's been mighty quiet in tha base without our fourth member hanging aboot!" Demo exclaimed, lightly bumping Sniper with his elbow.
"Don't think Oi'd make much of a difference sound wise, mate," Sniper pointed out quietly. Demo snorted.
"Aye, fair enough. But still, I haven't sssseen heads er tails of yer skinny *rse all week!"
"Yesterday Oi saw you watch me fall from the roof because of a rocket."
"I ain't talking aboot on tha battlements, lad, I'm talking aboot ceasefires. Free time, off hours! Yeu're nearly as bad as Spy with yer disappearances!" At that, Sniper only shrugged. Demo roughly sighed, fiddling with the bottle in his hands.
"I heard Miss Pauling say that she's found six mercenaries for a team. Don't know which classes though."
"That was quick," Sniper noted.
"Aye, it wasss. If she keeps tha rate up we ssshould be back as a team by next Wednesdai." Demo stated. Sniper only hummed in response, setting aside an arrow he finished and grabbed parts for a new one. The Scotsman scratched his eyebrow, watching the marksman work. His movements seemed second nature to him. It was probably muscle memory working, as there was a dull look in Sniper's eyes, one so prominent that even Demo, in his half-drunk state could notice it.
"Yeu're fairing better than sssome of our other mates, y'know," the Scotsman noted. Sniper finally met his gaze, raising an eyebrow. "Though, that makesss sense, ye always kept to yerself, so his death wouldn't hit ye as bbbadly. Truth be told, I'm bloody jealous." Demo slouched forward, resting his arms on his knees. "An' I ain't saying ye aren't ssshaken up by Scooter's passing, any man in yer shoes would be. But h*ll if yer makin' it look easy, ya alwayssss did have a way of making things look like a measly errand to finish instead of a mighty challenge." Sniper twirled an arrowhead in his hand.
"Well whoi would Oi be so shaken up over jus' some scout?"
Demo snapped up in shock, watching as Sniper continued to fletch arrows. The man wore the antithesis of an expression. There was nothing in his gaze.
"Ay- yeu- now that ain't a way to talk aboot the dead," Demo barked, straightening up, "annoying as Scout wasss, and traitorous, he wasn't just a scout!" Sniper only shrugged. "That's a nasty way of thinking!"
"It's the truth," Sniper replied, setting down the finished arrow and grabbing some more supplies. Demo opened his mouth to snap back. But he ended up closing it when he could think of nothing to say. So Sniper just refused to give the barest of respect towards his fellow man, never letting his heart get in the way of their reality. Demo should feel angrier, but he just couldn't bring himself to be so. And it seemed Sniper couldn't bring himself to actually believe his words.
The marksman's face remained blank, but his hands were lightly quivering. Around his nails, bitten down to a painful state, the skin was red and raw. Demo looked away, silently sighing and shaking his head.
"Well, Mr. "Just-a-Sniper"," Demoman began as he stood, "if ever yeu're in the mood for a good ssscotch, Ay'm always open fer a good drinking buddy." He heartedly patted Sniper's shoulder, locking eyes. "Yeu could use one too; drinking bbbuddy's make fer good listeners, and better secret keepers." With that, Demo straightened up, stumbled back, and began his walk back to the base.
His walk was quiet, and solemn. He could really use a drink.
It had gone quiet. Far quieter than before. Despite his pulse thundering in his ears, his harsh breathing, and the heavy pounds of his boots against the creaking wood, something had gone silent. To someone else, they wouldn't notice a thing. He noticed. Something had gone silent, something had stopped. His lungs began to burn as his breath quickened.
It was a quiet morning on a ceasefire weekend, and quite early too, making it the perfect time to take a leisurely walk around the base. Heavy wasn't normally a walker, it was a waste of time that he could be using to clean his Sasha, who needed much tender cleaning and care to erase those horrible scratches on her smoke tinted steel. It was better used writing letters to his family who were isolated and unaware of their main provider's fate, it was better time used to convince Medic to take a break from that mysterious project of his and actually remember to eat something and to feed his pet doves. The poor creatures would now mostly flock to Heavy as he would feed them whenever Medic was too focused. His friend would have these days of deep focus where the world seems to melt away until Heavy would force the German back into it, but those days never lasted weeks. It's been a full month now with no signs of Medic stopping. Nothing Heavy did would convince Medic to stop until the man simply collapsed from exhaustion.
And it was also a full month of Heavy taking quiet walks at the break of dawn. There was something about the peace, the tranquility undisturbed by loud Americans or distant explosions that the Russian grew to love about the walks. The sky was a light cyan, almost green as the sun awoke to the east, its warm face just creeping over the horizon. The grass was a dull green but would bloom into a rich emerald whenever his foot cleared away the dew clinging to the blades. And the smell of fresh air, and the cool temperature of Harvest's vast plains brought a sense of familiarity. It had been so long since Heavy had gone home to Siberia, back to his family, and the cold air that folded around his breath was a welcome companion to his otherwise purposeful isolation.
Walking around the base was also a good way to find any evil men planning to ambush. That, Heavy would not allow. Even when the team had been split in two(although they had merged last week when Miss Pauling hired a new team). His path was simple: start from the base's back entrance, head towards that decrepit tool shed on the hillside, work his way around the far shooting range and Sniper's van since the man kept it parked near the range, and head back to the base. It covered their territory in its entirety, and Heavy was thorough. He hadn't found anyone on his walks yet, none that meant harm on purpose. Pyro would be out sometimes, starting fires, starting big fires that Heavy would scold her for making and send him back inside where it was safe and where the others could watch the firebug. But the one day he would find an evildoer, Heavy would be ready. They would not get near the base or the men in it. Not again.
Engineer had gone a different route to protect their base, and in Heavy's opinion an impulsive route, by building defenses around the entrances; small sentries that would shoot anyone whose identity wasn't coded into their database. And it worked, but not without heavy consequences. A poor delivery boy who mistakenly got the wrong address was gunned down. He was dead by the time anyone learned what had happened. By his face and body, the kid couldn't have been any older than Scout. Engineer now only turned the sentries on at night, which left the early morning and day open for attacks.
By the time afternoon and evening roll around, everyone is awake enough to defend the base and to spot anything suspicious. The early morning was another story. And Soldier, the only other man Heavy knew of that woke up near the same time, was only one insane man. So Heavy made perimeter sweeps, or leisurely walks. They had the same purpose either way.
He reached the shed and paused to have a look around. The hill it stood on was the only natural elevation in their territory and he would use it to get a better view of his surroundings. So far, nothing was out of the ordinary. The base, a homely multi story farmhouse encompassed with the occasional crabapple tree and the typically dead, brown grass. But since it was late spring, the grass was alive and green. Other buildings such as the shooting range, shed, and military grade storm bunker were spread out, creating a small circle with a wide area of land for the team to explore. By the shooting range stood Sniper's van, tire tracks just visible on the packed dirt. He would often come and go, much to Heavy's disapproval. To go unchecked for hours, even whole days on end was a recipe for a lonesome end. Should anything happen to the Australian while he was away, he wouldn't have the team as backup. He would be alone to fend for himself. But Sniper was ever the isolationist and to ask the man to change his very nature after all the team went through was foolish, and would only make Sniper dig his heels into the ground about the matter.
Heavy began to make his way to the shooting range, the light bundles of grass crinkling underfoot. The sun was steadily pulling itself up, and the sky was now a light blue. The team would be waking up any time now. As he neared the expansive wooden building, the sound of muffled but loud gunshots greeted his ears. Even before setting foot in the Shooting Range, Heavy knew who he'd find. Giving a good scan of his surroundings, the Russian made sure that there was no one else around and entered the building.
The inside smelled of unsettled dust, gunsmoke, and regular smoke as Heavy entered the range. As expansive as it was with a good thirty meters in length, only a fifth of it was commonly used, that fifth being where the men would aim and shoot from. The rest was filled with targets and cutouts of classes, many replicas of themselves. And taking aim at the plywood was Sniper.
For over three whole days Heavy hadn't seen the marksman anywhere besides the battlefield until now. He was dressed in civilian clothes with a yellowish tan button up and deep brown pants. A lit cigarette was pinned between his lips, and two used ones sat in an ashtray by his feet. His loyal hat was left in his van, letting the marksman's ruffled and thick brown hair be seen. It looked like he'd woken up not five minutes ago, and yet Heavy knew that couldn't be the case as there were a good fifty bullet holes piercing the cutouts that the Russian could see.
If Sniper knew Heavy entered, he didn't acknowledge him, instead only continuing to hone his sharpshooting. Heavy didn't mind the silence; Sniper was a man of few words, and he himself was a man of fewer. He sat down by a bench near the door and watched his team member fire his rifle.
BANG! A demoman's heart exploded into splinters. Next to go was an enemy sniper's forehead. As Heavy watched, he noticed things. Things that others would not notice if they only tried to understand with words and not with actions.
The marksman's movements were mechanical. He would take aim, fire, reload, and aim again, making only slight alterations to which cutout he was aiming for. Nearly every class cutout had holes, some like enemy engineers, medics, and snipers had many in fatal places like the heads, chests, and even the throat. Others had fewer but remained fatal. But there was a noticeable lack of gunshots in a certain class cutout.
"Sniper," Heavy said.
BANG!
"Heavy," Sniper replied as he reloaded his rifle.
"I think you have problem," the Russian said bluntly. The marksman's shoulder drooped, and he ran a hand through his messy hair.
"Yeah," Sniper sighed, raising his rifle again, "can't seem to get moi aim right. Moi grip keeps flicking. Look," he pointed to a spy cutout, "the holes are angled and are higher than they should be. A bloke could survive a hit like that if jus' a centimeter higher."
"That wasn't what Heavy meant," Heavy explained. The marksman finally turned to look back at the older man in curiosity. He was wearing his sunglasses like normal, but even through the thick orange glass the Russian could see the dark bags under Sniper's eyes.
"You will not shoot scouts, that is problem I see." The younger man's fingers twitched when Heavy pointed that fact out. The subtle movement caught the man's eye, and what kept it was the dried blood around Sniper's nails.
"Scouts are a lower priority," Sniper said after just a second longer than it should have taken, turning back to the range, "moi main targets on the battlefield are medics and engineers, classes that make killing their team harder. And since moi aim's been shot," BANG! "Best to get it back by focusing on high priorities." Heavy simply shook his head, sighing.
"Leetle men like scouts capsure points quicker, they are higher priority than you think."
BANG!
"That's circumstantial; medics and engineers aren't."
"Like engineers on offense teams are circumstantial," Heavy pointed out. His companion said another excuse, but Sniper's body language was telling Heavy that the man was growing impatient. His shoulders were squared, and his reloads were faster. Sniper didn't want to continue. He didn't want the conversation to reach its obvious conclusion. Well Heavy was reaching it anyway whether the Australian wanted it or not.
"You are not shooting scouts because of aim, it is because of pain." He hit the nail on the head. Sniper stiffened too obviously to be played off. "You hide like Spy, work like Engineer, you are missing leetle Scout."
"Oi don't miss him," Sniper said, aiming at a cutout. BANG! A heavy's head exploded. Heavy pressed on.
"Nyet, and it is good to feel this. Team all misses Scout, even in small ways.
"Again, Oi don-"
"I did not always like things Scout did," Heavy continued, forcing Sniper to listen, "but Heavy still is sad by his death. It is good thing to feel that, not bad." BANG! "You should not be ashamed of feeling this way. Is natural to feel grief over friends." The marksman sharply exhaled as his reload echoed through the range. He then fired directly at a scout cutout, shooting it between the eyes.
"Hard to be ashamed of something ya ain't feeling," Sniper said, "Oi'm not going to waste moi time to missing someone who got himself killed through his own recklessness." BANG! The scout's eye exploded. "We had a plan, he decided to venture away from it and that's whot happened. 'S not moi bloody fault the kid wanted to play hero." BANG! The right side of the head broke off. "Was only a matter of time, honestly, with his track record of pulling that s**t," BANG!
"Sniper-"
"Besides, we're hired killers, it's written in the bloody contracts we signed that we could die jus' as much as the men we're supposed to kill," Sniper snarled, reloading faster. BANG! "Our lives mean as much as a bloody dime out here, and that's how much he ended up being worth, nothing but a gory mess." BANG! "He was jus' a scout, so sorry for not being a blubbering dolt like the lot of you for some city born brat." BANG! "Oi'm not going to care about some idiot who couldn't handle the real world-" BANG! "-like he claimed he could! So quit-" BANG! "-trying to guilt trip me-" BANG! "-into forcing moiself-" BANG! "-to care about Je-" BANG!
Snap! The sound of something breaking was near silent compared to the deafening gunshots. Heavy watched as Sniper froze in place, clearly surprised. He then lowered his rifle to examine it and something in his hand. From where he sat, Heavy couldn't make out what had snapped, but something had.
His companion was silent, looking down at his weapon. He stood like that for a moment more before straightening up and exhaling a large puff of smoke. When Sniper turned around, his expression was once again blank.
"You are leaving?" Heavy asked as Sniper slipped his rifle onto his shoulder.
"Broke the bolt handle," the marksman replied with a rough but emotionless voice, "need Truckie to fix it before tomorrow."
"You can go to Engineer later," Heavy stated, standing up, "now is good time to talk." Sniper only continued to grab what little he brought with him. "Will be good for you."
"Oi'll see you later," Sniper said as he reached the door. He would have left had Heavy not grabbed his arm.
"It will help," Heavy reiterated. But Sniper was pulling away the moment Heavy grabbed him. He didn't let go. His teammate had to realize what he needed, and what he needed was to talk about this. But instead of saying what he needed to say, Sniper said something different that left Heavy with nothing but disappointment.
"Let go." He sighed, but Heavy gave in. The Russian let go of his companion and Sniper was gone without another word. He was left with no one but the cutouts and sudden silence for company.
The marksman was too stubborn, too prideful. Bottling everything up and keeping away from everyone wouldn't help. Sniper had to understand that. The sooner he confided in someone, the better. Heavy sighed again. Perhaps he had been too quick, it had only been a month since they left Sawmill. But Sniper needed to talk. The Russian turned back towards the targets.
The scout cutout was laden with bullet holes, leaving the face unrecognizable.
Even the sight alone was enough to make him shudder in phantom pain. He didn't want to think about how it actually felt. The feeling of your breath slipping through several new holes in your body; your lungs filling with never ending red saltwater; harsh burns glowing and making a sheen on your limbs, igniting a fire in your flesh that couldn't be doused. Hope wasn't reliable, and even less so practical. But all he could do was hope that the blood loss made it easier to ignore the pain.
Annoyance, irritation, indignance, how many other words could Spy use to describe his utter contempt for the world? Contempt worked, though it was harsher than necessary for his current situation. A current situation where he was now behind enemy lines and on the hunt. Those enemy lines that belonged to his former team. He and his RED, now BLU counterpart had been switched. A new rule to this tedious game, that rule being Autobalance, now that Respawn was created.
Respawn: a miracle machine and a devilish contraption. It saved their lives, they were immortal with it on. And it would also stretch their minds like elastic, only just keeping the men's sanity from snapping. The pain of their deaths wouldn't be erased like their bodies, the darkness of the subconscious they were stuck in while waiting to be knit back together. The jumbled thoughts Spy held from dawn to dusk wouldn't be erased.
Merely one of many reasons why the man of secrets felt such disdain. Never before had he been so utterly betrayed by his own being. Thoughts were tools, statements and questions by which to help one's self to weave through life and reality, not a cloud of unfinished words and emotions reigning unchecked and untethered. It was distracting, it was dangerous, it was agonizing!
Spy's silent footwork wavered and he bumped against the wall he'd been gliding past, making a dull noise. The clouded thoughts cleared just enough for a string of French curses to shine through. He bared his teeth, anger at a near tipping point. Focus! He was a man of focus, not whatever this was! And past events were no excuse to be so inept in the present.
The Frenchman released the breath he'd been holding as he watched Soldier and Medic race down the hall past him and towards the control point. They hadn't heard his mistake, he was still a ghost. Though if that masked arsonist came by, he'd be a pile of ash. The seventh pile that day if he wasn't careful.
Seven. Times. He was better than this, he was better than them.
Spy opened his disguise kit and picked the laborer, the familiar hiss of smoke and electricity surrounding him. Soon he would make his way up to the second floor, where his target stood, taking out his team one by one. A flash of anger was quickly stamped out. He was not going to fail again, not when the Australian was so close.
Quietly. He had to be quiet when climbing up the stairs or else his whole purpose of being here would be squandered again before he could complete it. Finding that Australian and killing him was the only thing that mattered right now, nothing else, not the recesses of his mind desperate to drag him back to a time he'd never recover. That voice whispering every mistake and folly he made throughout his years didn't matter right now. A deep shadow looming, waiting, building with each step didn't matter right now. There was a question that needed asking-
No! It was a bushman that needed killing, no questions, that question would do him no favors and it was pointless. What would it bring but more pain? He couldn't carry anymore of that, not when the team had been so quick to move on.
B*****ds. Each and every one of them. Was Spy being too idealistic? Yes. Did he care? If he did, would that make a difference? Acknowledging his irrational behavior wasn't stopping it, in fact, all it did would make that dark shadow grow knowing he couldn't control it. Spy couldn't control himself. He couldn't control the amount of pain he would feel on a daily basis or the emotions or even his own movements apparently because he miscounted the steps, expecting one more where there wasn't and thus stepping hard and loud on the second floor.
FOCUS! He stood still, listening for the encroaching footsteps of a curious Pyro or his target to peer around the corner to look for enemies. Neither happened, and Spy was free to make his way to the end of the hall. Past the medkit, down the hall, and around the corner to spot the dead end perfect for sniping.
There he was, crouching by an open window, peering at the world through his scope, waiting for someone to come into view before sending them straight back to spawn. Spy narrowed his eyes, grip tightening on his knife. Sniper had it so easy, as long as there was a wide open space, he could stay behind and safely kill off anyone from across the battlements. Everyone else had to rush in to kill the opposite team, no one else had the long range weaponry like Sniper did. It was pathetic how easy he had it.
Sniper took a shot, then swore as he reloaded. A miss. A failure. He hadn't even noticed Spy watching him yet. Another shot, this time a hit. Sniper stayed silent.
The bushman was always quiet, always holding that apathetic expression. What gave him the right to have such control over his emotions? Spy had been trained, spent years, decades learning the proper ways of wearing a mask so perfectly that no average person could tell when he put on an act or not. So then why was Sniper doing it so much better!?
Sniper had acted so worried and concerned then, now there was nothing. Nothing. So it was just an act before, even when the Australian had brought Scout's body down, it was nothing but an act. Perhaps he didn't feel the need to pretend to care about Scout anymore now that the boy was dead. This apathy was his true nature.
That deep shadow of hatred grew louder, and the need to bring his knife down between the other man's shoulder blades, to feel the muscles split and tear by twisting the knife and digging deeper was strong. Though that would kill him instantly. No, thrusting his blade into Sniper's throat, letting the blood spill out would be slow and give the marksman the pain and fear he deserved. All Spy needed to do was walk up and do it. Sniper was right there, aiming, taking a shot. Spy stepped forward.
The wood creaked under his shoe. Right. This particular board was loose and made noise. Spy internally swore as Sniper spun around.
"Ah, so you 'adn't gone deaf like I was beginning to suspect," Spy droned, lowering his disguise. There was no point in wearing it now that the marksman heard his real voice. Sniper didn't move, and didn't switch from his rifle to his kukri. In fact, when Spy spoke, the marksman seemed to ease up, shoulders going slack. A moment passed. Then Spy furrowed his brow as Sniper turned back and began to aim out the window once again.
"Are you not going to kill me or 'as your conscience finally dragged your weak mind into submission?" Sniper didn't respond. Spy stood there, watching the marksman take aim, shoot, and reload. He was being ignored.
"Are you trying to get me to 'elp you commit suicide?" Spy sneered, stalking up to Sniper's side. "Turning your back for all to see and exploit is idiotic, even for someone with such subhuman intelligence such as yourself. Oh, wait," he leaned against the wall by the window, glaring down at the sharpshooter, "perhaps you've finally realized 'ow much of a failure your life truly is. Ze isolation, ze blood on your hands, finally crashing down and that burden of guilt is simply too much to bear so you've decided to take ze coward's way out-"
"If you're here to kill me then stop wasting time and do it," Sniper interrupted, aiming his rifle. Spy clamped his mouth shut, then curled his lip. Sniper wouldn't play this game, he only cared about his sniping and nothing else. And if that were the case, then perhaps he hadn't told…
No. Spy wasn't going to ask the bushman anything involving that. It didn't matter what part he played, he was nothing, he meant nothing, all he had been was a tool then. An oxen to carry down the broken body of his son. It didn't matter that he had been the only one at Jeremy's side when he succumbed to the injuries. And if Sniper told Jeremy anything then, it didn't matter because Jeremy was dead, so any thoughts and feelings his son felt in his last moments meant nothing.
It all meant absolutely nothing so that question his torrential emotions wanted to ask also meant nothing.
"...Mundy."
And yet… it appeared that his speech thought differently.
Out of the corner of his eye, Spy watched Sniper freeze, locking up at his real name. The marksman turned to him, skeptical. Spy couldn't blame him.
"I must ask you something. Be honest," the Frenchman talked slowly, forcing every little syllable and sound to force back the tightness in his voice, "because I will know if you lie to me, and if you do, I will gut you like a fish. Understood?" The marksman lowered his weapon and his head. He was listening. Spy took a breath, steadying his pulse.
"You were there, at his side, when he… died," the pressure around his neck made it hard to speak, "I want to… I need to know, if you said anything to him. Did you tell him anything about…?" Out of all the things Spy hated most about emotions, it had to be their ability to cut him off with painful tightness. They had a stranglehold on him, and it wasn't letting go like the many other times this happened. As he focused on stealing back his airways, Sniper said something.
"No, Oi didn't tell him anything about you," the marksman turned back to the window, raising his rifle, "he didn't need something as painful as that added to the missing intestines and burns. Oi wasn't going to do that to him, wasn't moi place to tell him anyway." His tone was the same as every other time Sniper spoke, that same monotone voice. But there was something, a single small twinge at the very end. And that was enough to know that Sniper was telling the truth.
That dark, wrathful cloud eased up, even if a little bit, and it felt like a horrible weight had been lifted off Spy's shoulders. Sniper hadn't told Jeremy anything, he'd kept their secret, the marksman kept Jeremy from having his last thoughts be chained to his father's identity. Spy silently sighed, relieved and feeling, for once in over a month, something that could almost be described as… peace.
"Good," he said, barely able to hide the emotion in his voice, "that is good to know. Thank you, my friend."
"Oi'm not your friend," Sniper stated, shooting the RED Soldier, causing him to fall from the sky, "and Oi didn't do it for you." Spy was quiet, looking down at the man coolly. Then, he pulled his sleeves straight. That peace he had, Spy knew it was temporary. No part of the human psyche was ever permanent, even personality could be tampered with given enough time. But that peace of mind was enough for now to organize that still jumbled but quieter mess of thoughts and file them away for the time being.
"I was simply trying to be polite," Spy said, grabbing a cigarette and lighting it. As he took a puff of smoke, the butterfly knife he had slipped away found itself back in his hand. "But if you insist on remaining business partners, then I must get back to my own business."
He thrust the knife down but Sniper was quicker. The taller man shot to the side, stumbling back. Unbalanced, disarmed, a perfect opening. Spy looked to stab Sniper's side, but when Sniper reached to grab his arm, the Frenchman tossed his knife up, grabbed it with his other hand, and sliced Sniper's throat.
The marksman made a pained sound as he clasped at his neck, trying in vain to stop the bloodshed. He fell to his knees as Spy walked away, keeping the growing puddle of blood off his leather shoes. Spy grimaced at the bright red liquid and Sniper growing paler and paler until he collapsed with the only sign he was still alive being the gurgling breaths. Those wouldn't last much longer.
Satisfied, and with both missions complete, Spy turned away from the dying Australian and left, feeling nothing but the need to see more of his former teammates dying, finally feeling a mere droplet of the pain Spy was bound to carry for the rest of his days.
The men were gathered amongst themselves, whispering, staring at the crooked, mangled corpse. He sat alone, head hung low, watching the water lapping at his ankles. No one bothered to talk or sit with him besides her. Not the German, not the Russian, not the Americans or Scotsman. They kept away, and instead would talk to the man who lost his son. Asking how he was holding up, that they were sorry, that his child was in a better place. He sat alone as the others soon gathered around the assistant, listening to her speak and giving instructions. But the group ignored the Australian, or stayed away because of something. It was probably that red smell around him, or the red on him, the red in his shirt and his pants and his boots, under his nails and on his cheeks and in the lines of his palms. Was he okay, would the others bother to ask? No.
"Sniper, Pauling here, got a contract for you. It's a high priority so I need you to focus on it."
CXtrrrrr- "Is it hit or jus' another list of how to kill the other team?"
"It's a hit. Do you know where Alden is?"
"That town a few miles from here?"
"Yes. An old associate of the administrator is hiding out there. Her name is Margeret Bufort, though I doubt she'll still go by that name. I need you to head down there and take her out by tomorrow afternoon."
"...Awright."
"Sorry for such short notice, I just got the order five minutes ago and just finished writing up the contract and after this I have to- nevermind that, is there anything, like, any questions you have about this? Her file and photos were linked with the contract I sent."
"...How're you holding up?"
"I- what?"
"How are you doing, that's moi question."
"I'm… I'm, there's a- it's been- I've been… I'm doing… I…"
"Don't have to answer, jus' wanted to see-"
"No, no, it's- it's fine, I'm fine, it's just… it's just that I… I haven't really been asked that in a while so I didn't… Because usually, usually Spy asks that or… or he asks- asked that. Would ask that I mean. So…"
"..."
"...I keep expecting to hear him interrupt me when I give you guys contracts. I thought it was so annoying when he'd do that, because… because I didn't have time to answer things like how I'm doing, or if my little tomato plant ever got better or… if I liked that flower pot he got me. A-And I keep thinking, keep expecting him to be waiting outside the office whenever I come around to take your new files. One time he gave me a bundle of dandelions. I don't think he knew that they're weeds, he probably picked them because they were flowers and thought my favorite color was yellow."
"..."
"...I actually like pink. And green."
"..."
"...I'm sorry for ra- for rambling, I'm sorry, I'll let you, I'll let you get back to- I need to go too, and-"
"It's fine."
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine. And Oi'll get that contract done, don't worry."
"Thank you. I-I'll make sure it'll be worth it, I promise."
Twisting forever upward, a staircase grew. He'd been walking up it for as long as he could remember. The creaking oak and pine bending slightly underfoot made for the only company the man had. Besides himself at least. There never was anyone else but him. Was that a good thing? Besides himself, there was no one else in this deep blue tower.
Everywhere he looked was blue, even his own skin. The stairs were blue, the walls were blue, the light coming from the window stretching as tall as the tower itself bathed him in a blue light. It was all he'd ever known. All he knew was this blueness, and his climb.
Creaking wood, sharp but quiet taps of his boots, a strange drip echoing up the spire. He paused his journey, and turned his cloudy head to the stairwell where that new sound had come from.
Plip.
A single flash of color fell from high above him to far, far below. He leaned over to watch it fall. Its color was… brilliant, against that blue. It fell, and kept falling deeper, and deeper.
Then, another followed. Plip. And another after a moment. Plip, plip. A pattern of those colored droplets falling. They were coming from somewhere above him, and that meant something to be found. Something, or someone? Someone, after all this time… the thought scared him. And yet…
The man continued his climb. As the spiral grew along with his height, so too did those droplets. Plip, plip, plip. They fell faster, in more quantity. The sound, after hearing nothing but wood groans for eternity, was unnerving. What if there was no one up there? Then he'd still be the only one here. An acceptable fate; he'd gone for so long alone that finding out there was nothing to change that would brush this curiosity aside and he could go back to his climb. But if there was someone, what would that entail? A good change, a bad one? He didn't want that risk, but… that itching curiosity just kept nagging.
The droplets grew, sounding more like rainfall than before. And the outside, the color through the window, was changing into that same eye straining color as the beads falling down. Soon, he was coated in the new light. The light cutting much sharper shadows into the walls and steps. The man kept climbing despite a rise in his pulse.
Rainfall into a waterfall, light into a blazing fire too painful to see. He shielded his eyes from the window and looked above. He was reaching the top. After eons of this accent, he would finally reach peak.
Step after step after step. A new sound reached his ears when he reached the last flight of stairs before the final floor. A sound that was quiet, and weak, and wet. Some kind of moist pattern that caused the man to wince. That wasn't the only warning sign. The source of the droplets was pouring over the side, and he knew it was too thick to be called water. He stepped back when rivets began to pour over the stairs, dripping down and down, creating little lines slipping down the steps. The man was still, and silent, before going forwards and climbing the stairs.
The further he rose, the more of that… liquid covered the steps, creating a sheen that birthed an unnerving chill up his spine. The light soon met his eyes when he reached the top along with the sound of wet footsteps. He shielded his eyes, lowering them to the ground only to find the pool of color building and flowing around his boots. He looked up.
Red. That was the color. Red was everywhere besides himself. It lit up that open platform the stairs led to. It covered the wood with dripping, sticky puddles and wasn't stopping. There was only one other thing besides himself that remained blue. And that thing was the person lying cold on the wood, red leaking from someplace under them.
His eyes widened when the red began to bubble and froth like rapids. Little flames burst from the pool and the skin of the body. Soon, it was completely consumed in flame besides its arm. But the red grew, the pool around his feet seemed to rise and grow in force. He stumbled back, the red rising to his knees and past. Then, he was falling.
Falling and falling, that red liquid swallowing him whole. Copper saltiness was all he could taste, touch, and smell.
Everything was red. He was red.
It was nothing but red.
Sniper's eyes shot open. He lay there silently, desperately trying to quell the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Once his heart rate began to slow, the marksman scanned the dark interior of his van.
He was alone, safe, locked away from the world. Locked in with stale air that carried a coppery scent he couldn't ignore. Rolling onto his back, Sniper grabbed the latch of the window and wrenched it open.
The cold air of Harvest filled the small space, bringing with it the smell of old grass and packed dirt. The sudden and ongoing temperature drop was causing Sniper to shiver and his hands shake more than they already were. He took a deep breath; it was just a dream.
It was just that dream again. At least this time nothing knocked on his door. Sniper rolled back around, pawing in the dark for something. He found it and brought it close. The dark made it almost impossible to see the notepad, but the night time sky gave enough light for the marksman to make out his tally marks. He added the fifty sixth tally mark before finding his wristwatch.
Holding it up to the light, Sniper could just make out the time. 3:49. He set the watch back down and laid still. There wasn't a point to try and fall back asleep. He wouldn't be able to either way.
So the sharpshooter lay there, staring at the emptiness of his van, letting the emptiness of his exhausted mind drag him into a daze, one strong enough to last till morning.
Decided to make this chapter into two because there's a lot going on in it, and sometimes too many things happening hurts the story. So the chapter is now split into two but not a two part-er because the contents are kinda the same but different enough to warrant different chapter titles. I can't believe it's almost over...
