It was late. Very late. Well, at least it was Saturday which meant no matches for the weekend. The responsibility of his job could be put on the backburner, and the others would no doubt be sleeping in, finally able to relax. Sniper couldn't. Couldn't relax or sleep in. He couldn't sleep now which was why he closed his van's door behind him with a silent click and started walking to the base under the cold moonless sky.
The temperature was frigid and the compound dark. The marksman froze, a cold wind digging into his arms and raising goosebumps across his skin. Instantly he was overcome with shivers, and that only made his shaking hands worse.
Into his pockets of the jeans he'd slipped on before exiting, Sniper grabbed the lighter and cigarette case he kept in them. It was near empty, and the lighter had trouble igniting. Mostly likely the fuel inside was also almost empty.
Once the flame bloomed, he brought the cig to his lips, the tasteless thin paper finding itself there for the third time that day. Sniper cupped his hand around the small fire as he lit the stick, keeping it safe from the wind cutting into his body. It was second nature at this point, every little movement and wrist flick, practiced and timed. Then, he took a long, deep breath.
That familiar burning and ashy air swirled in his lungs as Sniper held it in. Then he exhaled, the smoke fading into nothing but a horrid smell which then faded into the cold air. His hands stopped shaking so much.
With the soft orange glow from his cigarette acting as a torch, Sniper silently stalked towards the base. Besides his pants, all the man wore was a faded yellow tee, no hat or aviators. Even if he hadn't misplaced them and couldn't remember where, wearing them would do more harm than good. The night, overcast with approaching mountains of clouds and a deep still quiet, was black. Besides his shoes lightly crushing the soft grass and stepping on dry, hard dirt, silence reigned. And that silence carried with it that wind, biting and stinging his already burning eyes.
The marksman blinked, and then quietly swore at the stinging pain it caused. Just another reminder for why he was making this blasted journey to the base full of his team of ingrates. The thought of talking to anyone made him bristle with contempt. And yet here he was, walking into the base, heading towards the Infirmary.
Two months, nearly three since he couldn't get a single night of peace. The moment his eyes closed to sleep, he would be met with that staircase, that blue world, and the red. Sniper didn't need sleeping aid, coffee and simple determination worked just fine, he just needed something to make his eyes stop hurting. He could deal with nightmares, he could deal with the permanent fatigue it birthed, but he couldn't deal with the pressure and pain of his eyesight anymore. Not anymore.
He forced down a powerful yawn as he entered the base. Someone left it unlocked. Idiots. Locking the door behind him, Sniper crept down the halls, making his way to the place he'd hopefully find some relief. The dreary emptiness of the base coupled with the darkness sent a crawling chill up the marksman's back. The bases should never be this quiet, didn't they get that? Or at the very least could leave a trace that the bloody building was still occupied!?
No, no, none of that, conserve energy, just get to the doc's. They didn't know, they couldn't understand how empty halls and dark spaces were omens not to be ignored. But they also didn't ask.
No one. No one asked what happened, they didn't care about that. Too focused on either winning matches or getting drunk, acting as if everything was back to normal. As if nothing was wrong, because there was nothing wrong, not to them. They didn't care.
Well that was fine by him, made it easier. They were only focused on their own small problems that wouldn't mean anything but dust to the passage of time. He also had some… but they also didn't mean anything. They meant nothing to Sniper, just like his team, just like this place, just like J-
…
Yes, Scout also meant nothing. He meant nothing- he was nothing. Nothing to anyone in this base, not even to his own father. Nothing but a rotting, fly covered carcass buried somewhere in a small state that also meant nothing. Fitting. Did Sniper know if the funeral had happened yet? No. But it wouldn't be an open casket.
That month spent with the kid meant nothing. Sniper knew Scout for four years before the attack. The runt meant nothing then, so even if Sniper learned more than he ever thought he would about the brat in such a shorter timespan, all of it still meant nothing now. In fact, two months have passed since the idiot gored himself with a bloody grenade, two times more than the amount of time Sniper actually truly knew him. It was pathetic that he was still having nightmares over someone who mattered so little.
Scout meant nothing. What he did in life meant nothing. What he said to Sniper with his dying breaths meant nothing. He meant nothing! The proof was in the pudding, just look around the base! Everyone moved on in the span of days, that's how little grieving over the kid meant! They didn't care about Scout, so he wouldn't care about Scout.
Sniper never should have cared in the first place over someone who had so little to offer besides trouble and sleepless nights.
He should have known better.
No, he did know better! And yet time and time and time and time again!... he kept letting it happen. No, he wasn't just a bystander, Sniper actively chose to care. He had signed the contract, printed his name, wrote his signature on the document that plainly stated that all of this? All of the past… everything, would happen. It always did, it was just a matter of time. He just… hoped that those downsides of the agreement would take years, maybe decades to form.
But no. No, it had to be less than a week after he made his decision for the world, the universe, fate itself to flip him off and snatch that one and only up- "upside" away.
Figures.
Now, because of his decision, sleep was nothing but torture. Now, the only way to keep his hands steady was to smoke. Now, his old habit of biting his nails had come back with a vengeance, making it hard to grab anything without a spike of pain shooting through his tender fingers. Now, the only emotion Sniper could conjure besides a strange numbness was…
Anger.
It was a sun settled in his chest, burning his nerves and veins, scorching away any little hint, a single taste of an idea, thought, or feeling until there was nothing but the ash of apathy. Better that than to make the same mistake. He couldn't brush aside the downsides anymore, he wouldn't forget what his weakness brought.
Weak. A weak idiot. That's what he was. That's why he chose to care about the brat, because he was weak and letting impractical emotions get the better of him. Because he was too weak to actually commit to his own principles. And that same weakness had manifested into a physical weakness as the lack of sleep had finally grown too great.
Sniper blinked, and quietly swore.
Finally his trek was reaching its conclusion as the Infirmary drew closer. An infirmary that was lit up. Through the double doors a yellow light, one that hurt his eyes, shone through the small windows. Someone was awake. That someone was probably Medic. Well, if he was awake, then he would know how to fix Sniper's eyesight.
Probably.
The marksman paused at the entrance, listening in through the doors. From what he could hear, there were two people inside. One had to be Medic, unless there were two teammates trying to find something and making no effort to hide their noise level. Or it could be some thieves, the front entrance was unlocked. And if there were a pair of robbers stupid enough to try and snatch some medicine from the mad doctor himself, then they wouldn't be scared of Sniper entering. He should be cautious.
Sniper put his hand on the door and silently cracked it open. The golden glow pierced his sight, forcing him to blink rapidly which only caused more pain. He couldn't help but softly swear.
Medic and Soldier looked up from their conversation, spotting Sniper standing in the doorway. He felt his mouth dry. So it was just Medic and someone else and not a pair of thieves. The marksman cleared his throat, making to speak.
"Ah, good evening Sniper, or rather good morning," Medic smiled, that familiar look in his eyes. The same look nearly everyone else would give him. He looked down, away from the pair and that open door behind Medic's shoulder, revealing something red and hid the venomous glare forming on his face. "Is there something you need?"
"You're busy. Oi can wait." Sniper backed away, letting the door close. He could wait. He could hold out a little more. Yawning, the sharpshooter let his feet take him to the bench by the doors. Letting himself fall onto the rickety chair, Sniper leaned back and finished the rest of his cigarette. That ashy smoke made him thirsty, scratching at his throat. He should have gotten a drink first; something else that wouldn't char his flesh but would still numb that shaking. But finding a good scotch at this time of night would be idiotic. Then again, here he was, waiting for the doc to finish up doing whatever he was doing with Soldier and ask him for anything that could ease back that pain. What Soldier had done to warrant a late night visit to the infirmary, Sniper couldn't tell. It was probably something stupid like getting a paper cut or an imaginary bruise to America or some s**t like that. Bloody loon.
The marksman let the end of his cig drop to the floor and quietly stamped out the embers. It left a dark smear on the tiled floor. Whatever, Medic left messes all the time, everyone did. Sniper sat there, waiting, resting his arms on his knees and fiddling with his fingers.
The dried bits of blood around his short nails meant that there were no more hangnails to pick off, and trying to bite them would end up reopening the little cuts. Sniper began to gnaw at the very delicate skin. Small spikes of pain shot through his nerves when teeth met flesh, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. It helped keep him awake, like that dark bruise on his thumb. A mark of incompetence and recklessness from reloading too quickly, from not paying attention. But it always kept him grounded in the present, so perhaps it was a blessing in disguise.
Soldier's voice cut through the quiet and the patriot followed swiftly after, throwing the doors open with a smile. A large ring of stitches encompassed his middle finger. So that's why he was there.
"Goodnight, private," Soldier nodded to Sniper, "I am leaving to sleep now." Sniper didn't respond, only watching his dumb teammate leave with a smile on his face. The marksman's lip curled before Medic made his appearance.
"Alright, now vhat seems to be ze problem?" The German asked after a large yawn as he let Sniper in, unaware of the discomfort the blaring lights were causing. The marksman didn't have time to answer as Medic followed up the question with several more. "Is it a cold? Broken wrist? Oh, it's your hands, isn't it?" Medic snatched Sniper's hand before the assassin could respond. "I knew you'd be having problems; constant nail biting to this extent can result in some rather unpleasant nerve damage-"
"No," Sniper snapped, ripping his hand out from Medic's own, "it's not moi bloody hands. They're fine."
"Oh," Medic said dejectedly, "then perhaps it's-"
"Will you jus' stop and let me explain?" Sniper cut him off, frayed nerves fraying further. He never should have come over here; he could deal just fine with or without his stinging eyes.
The doctor stopped, and gestured for Sniper to continue along as he sat down on a rotating chair. Taking this as a cue, Sniper also sat down on an examination table opposite of the medicine man.
"It's jus' moi eyes," he mumbled, rubbing his knuckles, "that's it."
"Could you be more specific?" Medic pressed. Sniper silently sighed.
"Hurts to blink. Tired a lot. Have trouble focusing on distant things." That was all he managed to say before his shoulder and chin was grabbed. As his head was forced up, Medic's fierce stare was all he could see.
The doctor looked like a mess at this proximity. His eyes were just a bit too wide, his normally clean shaven face was dark with a five o'clock shadow. The messy strands of jet black hair mixed with dove gray stuck out from the typically well made hair. And those eyes, almost alien in their blueness, seem to cut into his very soul.
"Vell…" Medic finally said, snatching Sniper's attention back to the present, "your eyes are quite red, no doubt staring through scopes all day helped vith zat. Have you been sleeping vell?"
"Well enough," Sniper lied. He hadn't really meant to lie, but he was already letting the doc know about one problem, he didn't need to know about the night terrors. But Medic wasn't so easily fooled.
"Clearly," Medic deadpanned, "vhich is vhy you are currently in mein infirmary at around…" He straightened up, looking up at the clock hanging on the light gray walls. "Two in ze morning suffering from obvious sleep deprivation and dry eyes."
"Ya don't look very rested either," Sniper pointed out.
"I have reasons! Important reasons such as-"
"Sewing Soldier's finger back on."
"Exactly! And to help you so-" Medic's head fell onto his chest, cutting off the German's surprisingly manic voice and into an uncomfortable silence. A minute passed before Sniper realized Medic fell asleep. Standing upright, snoring softly. Well then.
Maybe he could find something himself to ease the stinging? Sniper stood and sidestepped around the limp man, watching him for any sign that Medic would spring to life. With someone like him, anything was possible. At least he didn't have a weapon on him when he dozed off.
Around them, The infirmary was an organized mess. Stools, carts, and even Medic's desk were sitting in random locations. Papers and scalpels, pens and textbooks cluttered the floor and furniture. That open door Sniper spotted earlier was now closed, locking the red away and out of sight. A sterile, almost acidic smell covered the air, like the floor had recently been bleached. But under that, was something familiar.
Too familiar.
Any semblance of fatigue fell away like a coat as Sniper began to search the spacious room. He opened cupboards full of bottled organs, he lifted boxes to find pills and antidotes, he even flipped through the worn pages of the many books strewn about. Nothing. He must have missed it. Sniper looked back through the cupboards, pushing past those fluid filled jars of stomachs, livers, an ill-tempered loaf, and eyes. His fingers grazed a small glass bottle.
The sound of Medic starting awake with a loud gasp didn't tear his eyes away from that bottle in his hand. Sniper couldn't look away from that green tinted glass and the shimmering, churning flesh inside. Churning like his stomach at the curled smell seeping through the top.
"Vha- vhere!? Oh, right, vhere vas I? Ah, right! Sniper, you…" Medic's words trailed off as Sniper lifted his brimstone glare. The German looked confused at first, but then spotted the dull green vial in the marksman's trembling grip. He flashed a worried grin.
"Now, Sniper, I can explain." the man of medicine started. His words crashed and burned around them as Sniper lunged.
"Where'd you get this!?" The marksman roared, gripping Medic collar and slamming him into the desk, "whoi do you have this!?"
"Now, calm down, let's keep an open mind about this-"
"Like h*ll Oi am!" Sniper spat, getting closer and tightening his shaking grip. "That ****ing thing ruined everything! It killed- it killed bloody crowds of people!-"
"-Sniper-"
"It wrecked our bases-"
"-Listen-"
"And you're here giving it a bloody HOME!?"
"Sniper, zat's enough!" Medic grabbed Sniper's wrists and shoved him away. The friction under his fingertips burned and Sniper stumbled back, hissing in pain. Medic straightened up his shirt and his stance, now clearly irritated. Good, he deserved to feel some consequences from keeping a bit of that monster with him. And after all the effort into killing it too…
After what killing it had cost…
All in vain.
"I know vhat it looks like, believe me, I know," Medic began, fixing his glasses. "But it's make-up, Sniper! I've never seen anything like it!"
"And it should've stayed that way," Sniper growled, lobbing the vial at the doctor. Medic caught it perfectly.
"Eh, maybe, but since you know I must explain it!" Medic grinned, gesturing for Sniper to sit. He didn't. "No one else could possibly understand my findings! Vell, some vould, but you're ze only one knows, and I've had to keep this to meinself for ages, Sniper, ages!"
"'Cause you'd've gotten strangled."
"Exactly! Sniper, please, let me have this, let me explain and then I'll help you vith vhatever I can afterwards. Please," Medic was downright begging, the exhaustion in his eyes making the desperation all the more potent, "let me explain."
Sniper narrowed his eyes. Whatever excuse Medic was about to pull out of his *rse, it wouldn't be enough. There was no excuse. He should have just taken out his lighter and burned the bloody bottle. But that expired smell combined with the fluorescent lights were making his head spin. And the pain in his eyes couldn't be ignored anymore.
The marksman dropped onto a stool, rubbing his eyes and groaned. Then, he motioned for Medic to talk. The doctor wasted no time.
"Oh, vhere do I begin?" Medic gushed, beginning to pace around the room. "This being, it's. It's fascinating! It's almost like a benevolent cancer; ze cells are constantly absorbing themselves while dividing into new cells with different DNA strands! And there isn't just muscle tissue in there, oh no! Right now it's a colony of eye cells, hair cells, teeth, cartilage, bone, fat, liver, everything! Some aren't even human, I've found octopus, spider, dolphin, and many more.
"As Miss Pauling had stated in ze caves," Medic trotted over to a cabinet and pulled out some more vials and jars full of biomaterial, "ze cells do rapidly grow, yes, but ze growth can be controlled! Look!" He tried handing Sniper a large jar. Sniper didn't take it. "This is a perfectly functioning cheetah lung! Zat I've grown!"
"It ain't changing like the other bit."
"No, because I have mastered it! Ze cells are mutated and cancerous, as stated before, but with some conditioning and practice, I vas able to grow this organ vith only minor complications. Liquid steadies ze growth, all I needed to do vas convince ze cells zat they were completely submerged after creating a fully functioning lung! Sniper," Medic locked eyes, a manic grin splitting his face in two, "this is an infinite supply of organs, tissue, this is a medical breakthrough! I'll never have to peruse ze black market again!"
"But whot about the human DNA?" Sniper pointed out, shifting backwards to gain some distance from the mad doctor. "He was in control of the whole… lot. Whotever you made, he's still in there." Medic waved his hand dismissively.
"Well, technically only ze human cells are his and Scout's, not ze animal ones. Ze human ones are a mix-"
"It wasn't Scout," Sniper said immediately, gaining Medic's attention. "He was jus' wearing the kid's face. It wasn't Scout."
"Ah… vell, here's ze thing," the doctor began, quietly setting down his jars of flesh, "it vas Scout."
"No it-"
"In a sense. A more accurate vay of saying it vould be he vas a clone of Scout. See," Medic sat down opposite of Sniper, "every part of zat spy this creature was made from vas used, zat included ze brain and ze memories inside. After it bit off Scout's hand, it absorbed zat, causing our teammate's DNA to mesh with ze beast. I don't know all ze details, and trying to explain everything vhen I only really have theories vould mean I'd have to delve into ze matter of souls, and ze question of if parts of our bodies store memories and many other things.
"But ze fact of ze matter is, I found Scout's DNA in ze tissue. Cells of his eyes, skin, intestines, and even brain. I could make a pure copy of Scout using this, ze only question being if anything personal about Scout would stay intact like his personality or if he would be brain dead vithout his soul. Either vay, one has to vonder, ja?"
Medic continued to talk, but his excited rambles interrupted by the occasional five second sleep were nothing but faint whispers to Sniper. The marksman sat in complete silence, the cold familiarity of building horror crawling through his veins. If what Medic said was true, all of it, then it had also been telling the truth.
But- no, no, he- it couldn't have been. That thing wasn't him, it acted nothing like him! Besides when he- it first showed up, but it had just trapped the real… but it did nothing besides that and the way it, the way he- it begged for his life as Sniper fired bullet after bullet into its skull, and despite that… warning them. Two separate beings forced together, one that looked entirely like Sniper's fr- like his, his…
And it, before Pyro burned him, the way his eyes changed colors and letting Sniper go once they shifted into his eyes. Ones riddled with guilt. It couldn't have been him… it, it couldn't!
He couldn't be… he wasn't him, there weren't two, it wasn't… it couldn't be, not two, not even twenty minutes apart.
A weakness that Sniper had been staving off from months of sleeplessness, or perhaps more than that, began to crawl through his system. The exhaustion, settling deep in his very bones, leaving nothing but emptiness. Like a desert, with the only remnants of it once sustaining life being the dead bushes and dried out sticks.
There was no energy left to feel anything. Not even when Medic got too close holding that little glass vial. The insane manic look was still in his eyes, but Sniper couldn't bring his anger out. There was nothing left to give.
"-It's ze Fountain of Youth, mein friend!" Medic's voice cut through that thick nothing, "and I'm holding a droplet of it in this. Do you understand? Think about it, any ailment you have could be healed! Vithout mein Medigun! Your skin, your eyes, kidneys, everything! I could grow exact replicas, perfectly healthy replicas, and replace your failing ones! Even your scars! Like zat one on your cheek, and above your heart- vhere'd you get it anyvay?" The doctor was grabbing his shirt, trying to find the scarred skin. "It looks like an-"
"Let go," Sniper mumbled, grabbing Medic's wrist but too weak to pull him away. "Was a bolt. Lightning bolt."
"Lightning!?" Medic cried, "How in ze h*ll did you survive!?"
"Was already dead. S… Scout, he started moi heart with it," Sniper heard himself say. He felt the doctor step away, listening to the words mechanically slip through his lips. "Drowned. Apparently CPR wasn't working and… yeah, made himself a rod and jus' took it. The scar got, it got there because of him."
"So both of you were struck? Together? To restart your heart?" The marksman shrugged limply.
"Pretty much," he said quietly. Medic's eyes were wide and electric with thought.
"He restarted you heart vith lightning," the German muttered, tapping his chin, forgetting about his previous topic, "zat is incredible. Perhaps the volts were split between you two, lowering ze fatality chance. I vonder vhat it felt like, I'll have to remember to as-"
"It hurt. A lot." Sniper answered. He didn't bother raising his head, he was still too tired to do much of anything. Even talking was starting to feel impossible as his throat grew tight with dryness.
"You said zat CPR vasn't vorking?" Medic asked, now searching through cabinets and drawers. "Vas he doing it right? Because zat vould explain vhy." Sniper scratched his chest, glaring at the ground. Why did Medic have to ask so many stupid questions? All he wanted was something to help his stupid eyes, not think about things that didn't matter. It was in the past, so long ago, could he even remember what Scout did?
"...he complained about wasting his first kiss afterwards. After punching me. He must've done everything he could. Didn't have a hand either. Still did everything he could." But it didn't matter. Didn't matter at all. No reason for bringing it back up after so long. So then. So then there was no reason for that roughness to build, something trying to push past that nothingness. Sniper knew what it was. He stomped it back down, silencing it once more.
"It was moronic," Sniper said, his voice like a building sandstorm, "he could've got himself killed. So many times, and he never thought anything through. Guess how that turned out. Using a live bloody grenade after dousing it in petrol, that's jus' asking for death. Well, he got whot he asked for. That's whot happens when you don't learn from making mistakes, the stupid b*****d-" Sniper forced himself to stop, glaring at the ground and blinking fast. His voice, right at the very end, wavered. A single, small tonal shift he couldn't catch in time. The room, silent, nothing but the feeling of Medic's surprised stare on him.
Weak. He made you weak. Do you regret caring now?
"...You know," he heard Medic finally say, a pointed tone in his words, "ze others. They are starting to think something is wrong."
"Nothing's wrong," Sniper replied evenly. Nothing wavered this time. No more mistakes.
"Yes, but ze others suspect differently. You've noticed, ja?" Medic continued. "They're noticing the isolation, Mundy. Soon, they vill pry, like vith meinself."
"Nothing worth prying into."
"Of course. But they'll still do it. If you vant ze suspicion to fade, you need to show zat nothing is wrong, not just spouting ze fact. Obviously there's nothing wrong besides your eyesight at ze moment," Medic pointed out, grabbing something from a cabinet. He walked back, standing by the desk. "Heavy insists zat I am not vell. Zat I should "open up" and zat mein owed favor isn't zat important or what I just told you. About ze cells. He thinks I'm pushing meinself too far vith this, and zat I should take a break or something, something, blah blah blah. And to get him to stop being so pushy, I show zat I'm am indeed vell by pretending to take his advice on occasion. Because I'm ze doctor here, not Heavy, I should very much think I vould know mein own limits!" Medic slammed his fist against the desk, rattling the contents within and filling the room with volume. He sighed. "If you vant Heavy off your back too, you need to stop acting like something is wrong."
The marksman didn't speak, and remained mute when Medic walked up and dropped something in his open hand. The small item fit smugly in his palm, and giving it a quick scan revealed it to be eyedrops.
"Those vill help, start vith only using them once every four hours or so. If you don't feel any results, reduce it to two, or h*ll, vhenever your eyes feel dry, I'll just fix up anything bad zat happens if you come around."
"...thanks."
"Don't mention it. And, Mundy," Medic said after Sniper when he stood to leave, "it vould be best to start tomorrow. Showing them that you're falling back to routine by joining us for breakfast vould ease their minds. And questions"
"...Oi'll think about it," Sniper replied, and pushed his way out the door, slipping the eyedrops in his pocket and walking back to his van to wait for later morning to arrive.
"-on't know where, don't know when~" That old radio in the kitchen played, wavering through the base, filling the warm air with a crinkling bronze tune. Windows and their curtains were open and drawn, letting the cool, mid summer morning wind enter the cozy interior of the farmhouse. Dust, crabapple, and the encroaching storm flavored outside air mingled with the mouth-watering scent of hashbrowns and hand crafted biscuits. Though that still wasn't quite worth it to be here, in Sniper's opinion.
But if what Medic had said was true, and if it really would help get the team to stop staring at him, to not stop their conversations whenever he entered a room, or to simply leave him alone, then he could handle this. After all, it was a single team breakfast, not a bloody fight for his life. Something like a few side eyes and awkward small talk would be nothing compared to the things Sniper dealt with before. It wasn't like his life was in mortal peril just by being here.
The dusty colored planks tapped under his boots and heels, and the soft red wallpaper of the building covered with posters and paintings of fox hunting and romanticized everyday moments. All of it was familiar in a peaceful sense, like he was back in his childhood home. Only this was a mercenary base and not an actual farm with chickens and sheep.
It helped, it did help. It would have helped more if he had a smoke, but having one this early in the morning was a bad idea. But bloody h*ll, did he want one. And the bacon he could now make out as he got closer to the Mess Room.
Harvest's base was much smaller than Sawmill, and it was a dwarf compared to Landfall, and Sniper embraced it wholeheartedly. Maybe he was so quick to accept the size difference because he didn't have to live in it with the other seven men, but he didn't care, if any of them wanted space, then they could get their own vans to live in.
Sniper stopped outside a cherry wood double door. He could make out the clinking of dishes and sleep muddled voices. Although the voices couldn't be identified, it was best to assume everyone else was in there. He really didn't want to talk to anyone, not now and not today. But if this would get them to stop caring, then…
The moment the marksman swung the quiet doors open, the full extent of the hearty aroma swept up his senses and sent his mind into a ravenous tailspin. Though it wasn't strong enough to ignore the stares and sudden silence Sniper earned as well. Indeed, everyone except Spy was there, even Medic, whose dark rimmed eyes lit up in both shock and disbelief at the sight.
Heavy, Demo, and Soldier also looked towards him, each wearing their own versions of surprise. The Scotsman was the first to look away to drink more from his bottle he brought to the large food cover table.
"Sniper," Heavy began, scrutiny filling his gaze, "something happen?"
"Nah, Oi…" Sniper started but stopped, not knowing how to continue.
"About time you brought your lanky camping *ss for an American breakfast," Soldier, thank goodness, cut into the conversation, "whatever kangaroo steak you've been eating alone won't put meat on your bones like these will! Now sit down, that's an order!" There were three empty seats. One was by Pyro, who was lighting some candles on the table along with the table cloth. One was by Soldier who was stuffing some beans into his mouth and chewing loudly. The last was by Heavy, who was looking expectedly at him. Sniper sat by Soldier, and Heavy frowned. He chose to ignore that.
"Be wary, soldier," Soldier whispered through his full mouth to him once he sat down, "Demo has woken on the wrong side of the bed and is feeling mutinous towards our men."
"Because yeu used yourrrr blasted trumpet in me bbbloody room atttt five in the bloody morning," Demo snarled, stabbing an egg with his fork. Speaking of eggs, Sniper cast his eyes down at the feast before him.
It was a buffet. Large platters of eggs, pancakes, grits, and bacon covered the surface. Jugs and pitchers of juice, milk, and coffee stood as towers among the already depleted mountains of food, mined away by the large men. Baskets of fruit and muffins along with skillets half filled with hash browns topped it off.
"Engie'ssss made tha breakfast," Demo explained once he spotted Sniper's overwhelmed expression. "Gets up an' startssss slaving away even when there'sss leftovers like a dolting ffffeeble maid."
"Does this everyday?" Sniper found himself asking as Soldier passed him a bowl of beans and a plate. He took them with a nod.
"Yes," Heavy rumbled, cutting apart the tower of pancakes on his plate and skewering them with his comically small fork, "seems to think it's necessary. Is not. Also doesn't ask for help when it is necessary."
"He's still in ze kitchen either cleaning or something," Medic added. He was busy filling up his plate with generous helpings of eggs and tangerines. Heavy watched him with a knowing but annoyed look. "Pyro typically helps vith that but…" He nodded towards the pyromaniac who was making a diorama of the base using bacon with the guidance of Soldier.
Sniper turned back to the display of food. Every bit of food had been touched and jug poured. All except the muffins. No one had touched those. He grabbed a poppy one. He also grabbed an apple from the single fruit basket.
"Sniper, ya cared ta join us this time?" The breakfast maker entered the room with the, presumably, final platter covered in Texas toast. His goggles were resting on his forehead, leaving the builder's turquoise eyes open and curious. Sniper shrugged, pretending to be occupied with his plate.
"Well, good ta see you join the team again!" Engineer said cheerfully. He set the platter down on the edge of the table, the only place left open, and sat down by Pyro, snatching away the firebug's lighter with a stern look. "Now Ah told you not ta bring these ta the table, mister!" Pyro mumbled and grumbled before crossing their arms and turning away from the Texan. Engie sighed, then turned back to Sniper with a smile.
"Ah'm gonna be honest, son, Ah was starting ta think you'd gone and got yerself killed somehow."
"Respawn's still on," Sniper said quietly, looking down at the green apple in his hand, "Oi would've been caught."
"Ah know, but no amount of logical reasoning could brush your absence aside. But either way, glad ta know yer alright." Engie turned back towards Pyro, snatching away another lighter she had secretly brought out, and Sniper briefly met Medic's eyes. The doctor gave him pointed smirk before rising to a stand.
"Vell, danke Engineer for ze meal," he grabbed his plate, making to leave, "but I must get back to my-"
"No," Heavy grabbed Medic's shoulders and pushed him back down into his chair, "Doktor needs break from work."
"But I'm in ze middle of a breakthrough, Heavy!" Medic argued to the unmoving Russian.
"Breakthrough can wait, now is team time." With no other points and seeing his friend's stubbornness, Medic drooped with a nasty scowl. "Sniper joined and is staying, you will stay too."
As the German muttered in German, the team began to eat. That old song was louder now, and filled the airways with singsong and joy. Conversations were building at the table, the clinking of silverware and taps of glasses acted as a backdrop, and Sniper sat listening to his team continue on as if he was never there to begin with. It was familiar, it was alright, and different. The breakfast conversation was too quiet, and there wasn't a fight happening either. Though that was probably for the best. But still, the noise was missing something.
"-You please say hello, to the folks that I know, tell them I won't be long~"
That something didn't matter. It shouldn't matter, but Soldier thought otherwise.
"What is the status of scout applicants?" The patriot barked over the others. Sniper bit down hard on the fork still in his mouth, the metal stinging his teeth. Around him, the others had similar reactions. Medic froze, fork halfway to his open mouth. Engie and Pyro's conversation came to a halt. The Scotsman's eye narrowed and the Russian's eyes widened.
"We haven't had a scout in months," Soldier continued, unaware of the tension he created, "and Miss Pauling said we'd have one soon weeks ago! It's unheard of for an army to be missing a ninth of its soldiers for so long!"
"...Well, remember, that class's applicants are hard ta come by, Solly," Engie began to explain, fiddling with a napkin. "And Ah reckon Miss Pauling's trying her darndest to find a scrapper good enough for our team."
"Hard to come by? Bulls**t! Young men should be lining up to serve the country! It is our sworn duty as Americans to protect and shoot enemies of the state!" Soldier shouted. Then he stood and planted a heavy foot onto the table, shaking the food and earning distasteful shouts in return. "Why, when I was a scout, and by scout I mean weak, and scrawny young man, I went to every enlistment camp in every state to give my life for democracy! And to fight the Red Menace!" He pointed accusingly at Heavy, who only ignored him and continued to eat. Sniper also tried ignoring him, though that was harder because he chose to sit next to the bloody b*****d.
"But this ain't the armed forces, Soldier." Engie tried pointing out, "we're hired ta fight for private corporations, not a nation. We ain't got a draft." Soldier started talking again, asking more questions about a thing that didn't matter. The marksman set his fork down, grabbing the untouched apple on his plate.
"I gotttt a questionnn," Demo suddenly said, cutting Soldier off and glaring around the table, "why do we even need a sssssscout classsss?"
"Demo-"
"I'm serious," The Scotsman stood, stamping his bottle on the table. "We've bbbeen doing fine fer monthsss without a rascal flannnking our enemiesss. Whot good wwwould a scout bring thattt we can't bring ourselvesss? Can ye think of one?" He thrust his bottle towards Medic, who looked away. "No? Whot a-aboot yeu?" Pyro slid down in his chair before springing out to slam the windows shut as the sound of rain grew too loud. "Heavy?"
"Scouts are fast," Heavy said, narrowing his eyes at his fellow defense class, "do much damage."
"Like me an' Sssssolly do!" Demo retorted, grabbing his friend's collar. "We might not be fassst, but we can fly and kill withhh a single explosive! Scoutsss can't do that!"
"Now Demo," Engie cut in, "Ah wasn't too fond of whut the scout did either, but that class completes objectives faster than any of us here."
"This's nuthing toooo do with Ssssscout!" He kept his hands in his lap, hiding the trembling grip on the apple that wouldn't split in half. "I'm sssssaying we don't need scoutssss in generrrral, not that traitorousss-"
"Now that's backtalk, private!" Soldier finally shouted back, jabbing a finger in the drunk man's face. "That bootcamper had his guts explode out, never giving us the chance to hold them in and shake our fists to the sky, screaming that he was too young to die! That's tragic!"
"Demo is drunk," Heavy said, glaring down at the darker man, "should go and relax."
"I'll drink if I bbbbloody want!" His nails were too short to dig into the green skin, no matter how hard he strained.
"Listen, fellas, let's calm down," Engineer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Demo, Ah get why yer upset, h*ll, I'm still all kinds of complicated too, but the kid did die, and we shouldn't go bad mouthing-"
"I didn'ttt mention a thingggg aboot hissss desertion!" Demo snapped. "Yeu all can mournnnn and lay abootttt all ye bloody wwwwant, but I have tha rightttt to feel ttttha way I do! Ssscout locked us an' leftttt me an' Engie to die! An' I don't bbbbbloody care if he wwwwent an' blew himself to kingdom come, bbbbut I'm sick a'death of having tttto pretend that I'm ssssupposed to forget that! To act like he was a wee bbbbloody angel!"
"Nobody said this," Heavy retorted, the seat next to him empty. Medic left in the chaos. "You can feel this feelings, but Scout is also not all bad-"
"Can ye rememberrrrr a sssssingle thing besidesssss killing himself aaaaalongside that monstah thatttt did ye good?"
"Doesn't matter."
"Ohhhhh doesn't it!?"
"Demo, listen, none a this is doing anyone any good. Scout's dead and gone, and we-"
"Don't acttttlike yeu're so much bbbbetter. I know yeu feltttt happy too when hhhhe came downnnn dead!" Demo shouted the Texan down, unaware of the apple hurling towards him until it hit him square in the eye. He howled in pain, the rest of the men jumping up from their seats in reflex.
Pyro was the one to call out to the marksman when he reached the doorway. Heavy followed suit.
"Sniper, wait, Demo is not in right mind." The Russian said over the indigent drunk throwing insults towards everyone.
"Eh, let him go," Soldier replied, sounding like he couldn't care less, "he doesn't care about Scout which is why he doesn't care about Demo not caring."
Sniper stopped. With his hand resting on the doorframe curling into a painful grip, he looked over his shoulder. Those who were looking at him took a step back, eyes widening.
And he stepped out of the room, doors swinging from the force he shoved them with. The other five men were quiet, with Soldier being the first to speak.
"What did I say? It's the truth."
"You forget so quickly," Heavy growled after looking away from the doors and back to the other four men in the room. "What had happened."
"Whot, wwwwwhen tha runt came downnn a b-bloody mess?" Demo scoffed, taking a long drink. "Nah, I rrrremember clear as bbbbloody dai."
"Then Demoman remembers who carried leetle Scout down," Heavy's voice was deep and cutting, "and who's arms Scout died in." The demolition expert jabbed a finger at the larger man but had nothing to say. So he lowered his hand, muttering too quietly for anyone to make out his words before drinking once again. The others too looked ashamed and guilty.
"Aw shucks…" Engineer mumbled, looking despondent at the still swinging double doors.
"-but I know we'll meet again, some sunny day!~"
The door slammed behind him as Sniper exited the base in a furious gait. Each of them, each and every single one of them. He didn't care what they thought of him now, he never did! He never should have if he ever made that mistake. Another bloody mistake!
The tip-tap of rain on his leather hat was drowned out by the weighty stomps he made. Never should have went, Medic might have had a point if the team weren't disingenuous b*****ds. Only ever pretending to care. Like him.
Only he never did in the first place. About them. So he wasn't being hypocritical. Each of them, b*****ds. They were just waiting to find him "back to normal" because they wanted to badmouth Scout. They were just waiting for silent permission. Permission by omission.
How dare they.
How dare he say that about him. How dare he say that about Sniper. How dare he say that about him.
How dare he use his dying breaths to say that to him! How dare he! He knew exactly what he was doing, knew exactly what he was implying and knew Sniper knew the implications too, even in his last moments, trying to drag Sniper down, force him to take responsibility. To care. Well he didn't.
Not about what Soldier said. Not what Demo said. Not what Scout had said all those months ago on that red rooftop.
Rooftop. Calm down. Rooftop.
The marksman pivoted, walking back to the base but around to where the ladder was. He knew it was there. It was his job as a sniper to find access to high, closed off places. And there was a ladder, one that went all the way up to the base's rooftop. Closed off from the world, from the others, a place of safety and total isolation.
Cool winds whipped at his clothes and vest as he climbed, the metal bars sticking to his palms. Higher, higher, climbing higher and higher until he reached the top. It was wet with rain.
As he stood, Sniper scanned the rolling plains. The grass was growing yellow with late summer, and the sky was a shade of gray, heavy with storms and water. And a wind, not too powerful but certainly not weak, was enveloping him with water and goosebumps. The marksman sat.
Even after all this time, they couldn't outrun the rainclouds. He couldn't outrun the rainclouds. Well he didn't care, it was just weather.
What Demo said was just an opinion.
Jeremy was just a scout.
Sniper had gotten to know many scouts. Some were same day hires and fatal retires, some lasted longer like weeks, some lasted months. They were all just scouts. Scout was just a scout. He didn't matter just like those other scouts who no one could remember. Soon Scout wouldn't be remembered. In fact, it was already happening. His face, a foggy mess Sniper couldn't make out besides the red expressions of pain and delirium. Good, that was a good thing. It was a good thing that he was forgetting because Scout didn't mean anything. Scout didn't matter, he didn't matter!-
Calm down. It's no use getting so worked up over something that doesn't matter. Something that didn't matter nearly enough to warrant the way it was hooked into his mind. His dreams. His thoughts. Something so miniscule didn't matter, so then why was Sniper stuck on it? No one else he knew and died brought out such a reaction, no one else. Scout was worth about as much as a faceless extra in a film, what made him special? What made him so different from everybody else that he had so much control over Sniper's thoughts?
The distant rumble of thunder answered. Sniper scowled, scratching his chest.
So… so what? So what if Scout brought him back to life? That was just… that was just human nature, his impulsiveness that made him do that. It wasn't like Scout cared that much about him. No, he was just saving up life debts to use later because he knew Sniper would honor those, yeah, that was it. Nothing but selfishness and greed. Those were the reasons why Scout did anything, he didn't care. He never cared. He never cared about anyone but himself.
And his family. He did care about his family. The way his eyes would cloud into reminiscence of childhood memories, sparkling with energy and adoration. In the tunnels, the caves, that's all he would talk about, even mistaking Sniper for his brother… his brother Henry? Or was it Harley? Harvey, that was it. But that didn't mean anything. Caring for family is the most basic of cares, a standard, really. So Scout cared about himself and his family.
Miss Pauling too. He didn't just care about her, no, he loved her. Could only imagine a future with her. The way Scout would smile, completely lovestruck, and go on and on about every little thing he liked about the assistant, which was basically everything. The genuine affection, the concern when she was hurt, being more worried about her answer about asking her on a date than his own life. Scout cared about her more than anyone besides family.
But that was it. Miss Pauling, family, and himself, no one else. But… no, he was in such blatant denial about their team's death, and the guilt, about everything. About leaving them. And so focused on getting their team free. The tales, the stories, no, Scout did also care about them. Even if a little bit.
That. All of that, it didn't mean anything. None of that meant Scout cared about Sniper. Because he didn't. Sniper didn't care about Scout. Scout didn't care about Sniper. He didn't, he didn't. Nothing- Scout meant nothing to him! Because Scout didn't care-
He didn't…
Scout never ca…
He didn't care. Didn't he?
There was nothing to prove the opposite so then Sniper shouldn't be so bloody… he wouldn't find anything, in his memories. Nothing besides the red, so… no reason to not try and remember. Right?
Because there was nothing, and Scout never cared. He never-
There stood Scout, far worse for wear. His expression was one of dread, staring up at Sniper when he opened the door. The runner was still, quiet, eyes wider than anytime Sniper could remember. He was horrified.
And yet, Scout was here. Here, of all places, having found Sniper even after he left. After driving away and leaving no clues or map to show where he went. And yet, Scout was here, clothes stained and torn, shaking like a leaf. If he was telling the truth, and Sniper really had no reason other than spite not to believe it to be, then whatever Scout wanted to say had to be important. The kind of important where you somehow find the person who ran you off with a rifle and drove away, leaving you no food, clean water, or shelter.
"I, uh…" Scout began, looking away and rubbing his arm. "...hey."
That… that was just survival instincts. Scout needed shelter, water, food, and Sniper was the only one he knew that had all of that and was trustworthy. No caring, hitchhiking and normal hiking to apologize wasn't caring, it was simply practical, it was survival.
There was nothing else.
"Snipah, you good, man?" Scout asked. The cave was dark, the wall cold, and his head, too loud and muddled for a thought to stick for long. Sniper felt the kid shake his shoulder, asking about a stroke or something. Something about blinking, and he blinked twice. Was it twice? He could hardly remember a thing. But either way, he heard Scout sigh in relief, his hand moving to grab his arm instead of his shoulder, pulling him to his feet.
"Okay, yeah dat's, dat's good ta know." It sounded like he meant it. "Now c'mon Mick, dat can't be comfortable, let's get ya somewhere better." The voice was warm, worried, sympathetic. Scout wanted to help get Sniper somewhere better. In return, he put his whole weight onto Scout, earning some indignation that was nothing close to the amount of wrath Scout was known for. For that, and the quieter noise level, he was thankful.
He probably just felt bad, like a normal human being would for what happened to Sniper. That was it. Even when giving him his older brother's jacket, keeping him going, refusing to snap back at Sniper when he unloaded unfairly at Scout. It was just…
The feeling of his ribs cracking further was nothing compared to the lightning, but still, ow! Sniper was too weak, too frazzled to pry Scout off him immediately after the runner launched at him. All he could do was try not to pass out from dizziness, fading pain, and the tight hug he was getting.
"It worked!" Scout cried, and Sniper could feel the kid's smile pressed into his shoulder, "it worked! You're alive!" It honestly sounded like he was close to breaking down in tears. Happy tears, but tears nonetheless. Over Sniper. What exactly happened?
…the lightning strike. Scout could have just left him there, dead. He didn't. Maybe he should have, since CPR wasn't working, and he ended up getting hurt. Sure, it brought Sniper back, but…
"'M sorry for leavin' ya behind…" Scout's voice, rough and tearing the runner's throat apart, was muffled by the fabric of Sniper's shirt. He didn't say anything, too shocked by the sudden hug he was wrapped in. "'M so- 'M so freakin' sorry! Ya- ya didn't deserve it!" There was no explaining away the brokenness Sniper could hear. Guilt, and mental battery was the explanation. It was too prominent to brush aside. Sniper couldn't brush aside the stinging in his chest at the words spoken.
That had been genuine, the guilt was real, but-
"A-And if I became one?" The runner's voice, small and frantic, much like his pulse Sniper could feel from the tight grip he had on Scout's shoulder. "Then dat it was just, just- just practice for da real deal, in case, just in case I couldn't stop from turnin', because- cause I wasn't gonna be one, I wasn't gonna turn into somethin' dat would hurt or e-eat people who ain't done nothin', and you'd be stuck with it, with me, da monster me, and I couldn't," Scout's pulse grew even more frantic if that was possible, "I couldn't let you get hurt like dat."
Maybe. Just maybe, Scout…
"You're important ta me," Scout said, and for a moment, just a moment, his expression was one of complete seriousness. He meant it. Of course, his brain caught up to his mouth a second later. The runner's cheeks flushed and he started talking, backtracking, but the damage had been done. Sniper listened for a tad, watching Scout dig the grave he made for his manly persona. What he himself said next surprised both of them. But not by much since Sniper couldn't bring himself to care.
"You're not too bad yourself."
Maybe, just maybe, Scout really did-
"mick!" Those clouds of pain cleared temporarily, letting the sunrays of pure relief and joy shine through, "you're alive!"
Care. No, of course he cared, it was stupid to think Scout didn't. Of course Scout cared about people, more than almost anyone else Sniper knew. And what was he doing to return the favor?
The marksman was silent, though even if he wasn't, nothing would be heard over the pounding rain. It was deafening, using the thunder as backup. The cold, digging into his clothes and into his very skin, sending the marksman into violent shivers. He should leave. Should get down, he could get struck.
Sniper brought his knees up to his chest. There was nothing left to bite off, he knew that, he knew this was a habit he never should have indulged again, but…
Now it just tasted like red. And pain. Thunder rolled closer.
Well, maybe he… maybe it was caring, just a bit, but not to a huge extent, because… because Scout didn't care that much-
Stop, just stop. It's pointless to make excuses. Afterall-
"i wan-na tell, i- can i tell y… ya-"
"Tell me something?"
He blinked, and softly swore. The stinging was back, and a pressure right behind his eyes. That was new.
"b-but ya ccan, can't lau- ugh, okay? can't laugh."
"Oi won't laugh, Oi promise."
That pressure kept building. Building in his chest, in his head, pounding against his skull and ribs. It was starting to hurt.
What would it have been like?
"kay, c… cause 've, i tried te- tellin' ya earlier, bu…"
He'd grown up alone, the national outcast. Thinner than the rest, weaker than them all, by all accounts Sniper was a runt. It was far easier for his peers to pick on him for being small than other kids who matched their strength and brutish nature. It was easier to make black eyes than to make friends. So then… what would it have been like?
"an-y way… what-t, what i was… i just want-ed ta… i don't mind."
If he had someone like… back then, someone like himself. Scrawny, weak, another runt of the litter. Someone younger, giving him the need to keep them away from punches and kicks. Someone who would tag along on his adventures in the outback to find dinosaurs but coming back empty handed. Someone he wanted to strangle one moment and protect with his life the next. A friend, just one. One would have been enough. Or…
"you call, callin' me by… name, anymor-e. don't mind you callin' me j-... "jeremy", any more."
Sniper didn't really know what the real deal felt like, and never would. Scout sure knew what it felt like, he had what? Seven? But he got close. For only a moment. Only a moment before the feeling was killed off along with his friend.
Friend. That's what Jeremy was. That's what Jeremy wanted too: a friend, just one, but he…
He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, hissing in pain. The stinging wasn't stopping, and the pressure only built and built until his throat was crushed. The cold rain continued to soak him, making his hands shake.
It was mid summer, why was it raining so hard anyway? Jeremy wouldn't care, he said he liked the rain. Liked it because of… something. He couldn't remember what exactly, his head was pounding too much. Sniper hated the rain.
So maybe this was payback. For the past two months, going on three. Even after everything, all the vulnerability the runner let him see, after what he said at the end, Sniper still did everything to pretend like Jeremy was nothing to him. After everything. All those hateful, disgusting, pathetic and selfish thoughts about the one person who actively chose Sniper to be his friend. What did that say about him?
The marksman reached into his pocket, pulling out that little plastic dropper Medic gave him the night before. The German said it would help. It had to help, didn't it? He couldn't deal with this pressure.
Popping off the top, Sniper tilted his head back and tried to keep his eyes open wide enough for the droplets to work. The moment they hit his open eyes, he clamped them shut, swearing and rubbing at his eyes.
It wasn't pain, but h*ll if it wasn't uncomfortable. The stinging was gone, but when he opened his eyes, the world was blurred and watery. He felt something trail down his cheek and wiped it away. But more came. The warm water continued to fall and stain his face, and he couldn't wipe it away fast enough.
Thunder rumbled.
I'm sorry, if it was audible, no one could tell. With the pouring rain, the storm above, and with his face pressed firmly into his arms, it was silent.
I'm so, so sorry.
"Alright, Archimedes," Medic said to the bored dove watching him set up the unnerving machines, "take notes." By the dove's side on the desk he sat on was an untouched notepad and pen. Medic straightened up after connecting the final jumper cable. Stretching out his back, the doctor then trotted over to a tape recorder and pressed the record button. The tapes whirred to life, and Medic cleared his throat.
"Ze date is July 30th, 1969. At ze time of recording, it is currently around…" Medic peered up at the clock. His eyes widened, it was later than he thought. "4:23 AM. This shall be mein final attempt. So far I've made thirty three trials, all ending in failure. This time, instead of inserting Gland Six into ze brain stem, I shall use around… how many vas it, Archimedes?" He turned to his pet dove, who preened his feathers in apathy. A soft warbling coo faded down from the rafters. Medic looked up and smiled.
"Ah, yes, danke Socrates," the grayer dove cooed again. "I shall instead use about nine billion watts of electricity to revitalize Subject Two. If mein theory is correct," Medic trotted over to the wall of car batteries, converters, and wires so hot he had to wear oven mitts to touch. He proceeded to turn each battery and electric conductor. "Then this should be far more effective considering it worked before." Medic paused and turned towards Archimedes, who was staring at him in skepticism. He then laughed.
"Ah, your right, I'll probably vill keep testing until it vorks. Vhat can I say, I invested so much into this already, how can you expect me to simply give up vhen I'm so close?" The bird cooed.
"Ack, birds," Medic scoffed, turning back to the operation table and scanning its contents. "It'll be fine. Even if ze batteries explode, I can just buy Engineer more. Vhat he doesn't know vouldn't hurt him. I'm sure this vill be fine. Now," He tugged the cable, making sure it was secure, "ze stitches are industrial so they shouldn't pop open if ze electricity is too much, ze only thing to worry about it making sure ze flesh doesn't boil. Socrates," the dove above fluttered down, "keep an eye on ze heart rate monitor! And everyone else, into ze cage!" He clapped his hands and the flock flew into the large bronze cage. Except for Archimedes, who only continued to preen.
"Ugh, fine, you can stay but you must vear this," Medic slipped on a tiny welders mask on the doves face, "you too, Socrates." Socrates was more agreeable, flying over for his owner to slip another bird-sized mask on. He himself slipped on one he "borrowed" from Engineer and locked his bird cage up. After covering it with a deep, black tarp, Medic slipped on an oven mitt and walked over to the sparking and humming wall of living energy.
"Moment of truth, mein friends," the German stage whispered, excitement coursing through his veins like the energy through the cables he connected. "Let us see if we can't bring some life back into our team, ja?" Flexing his fingers, Medic dramatically grabbed the lever and ripped it down.
A blinding light and ear splitting shriek exploded in the small operation room before a deep drone, burning rubber, and complete darkness descended. The doctor stood, eyes wide, listening to the power drain from the base. It sounded like he blew a fuse. Or more likely all the fuses. Engineer was going to kill him. Even now, he swore he could hear the irate sleepy snarls from teammates waking up.
Oh well, he needed to see if it really was a wake up call. The monitor was dead, blown out with the glass covering the floor. That was okay, he was a doctor. Medic grabbed a stethoscope and walked over to the table, avoiding the small electrical fires erupting from the wires around the floor. Putting it on, he leaned over, scanning for movement. Then, he placed the stethoscope on the stitch-covered flesh.
Medic's eyes widened.
