. . .

As soon as Felicia left, Cyril prepared to take the injured owl back to base. He'd let it spend its recovery time in his room. He was sure the other team members wouldn't mind – just so long it kept quiet, especially during late night hours. So putting away the pest repellent and cleaning agents, he then gathered up his injured "patient" and closed up the camper van. But first, he was going to see Medic to have him check on the bird for good measure.

The doctor knew a thing or two about treating birds, seeing as he never took his doves to a vet hospital; he could also take X-rays of the whole body, just in case there more fractures. Cyril was not as skilled at detecting minuscule injuries as the doctor was.

"Oooh – whoo…" the owl whimpered as Cyril was walking towards the base.

"It's alright, we're almost there."

Making his way to the western end of the main building, he managed to sneak by Heavy and Demoman playing a game of blackjack in the patio area. From afar, he could hear Soldier practicing his aim with his shotgun over at the nearby target fields.

He quietly entered a backdoor, heading down a corridor to the Medbay.

I'm almost getting as good as Spy slipping past those blokes, he thought.

Finally reaching the double doors, he stopped and glanced down at the owl.

"Now, I'm bringing you to someone whose going to help. He'll take a deeper look at your injuries and determine how long you'll need to heal."

Cyril made sure to also project the message through telepathy. The bird remained silent, but he hoped it had understood. Taking a measured breath, he pushed the doors open and stepped inside. He was met with a few flashes of bluish light set up in another room adjacent to the main laboratory.

"Hey Doc, can I see you?" Cyril called.

There was no answer, so he walked over to the secondary room. In it, there was an illuminated gray silhouette of a jack rabbit hovering over a small, rectangular device.

Medic was humming some Bach tune, but then finally noticed the marksman.

"Ah, Herr Sniper! Vat can I do for you?"

Well, he's in a chippy mood, Cyril thought.

He probably received his latest shipment of frozen animal cadavers and couldn't wait to play around with their insides. Cyril strode over to the doctor, noticing a deceased rabbit on an operating table.

"Uh…I don't mean to interrupt your experiment, but—"

"Ah!" Medic walked over, noticing the owl in his arms. "You brought me anozher corpse! Wunderbar, I can use it in ze Reviver here!"

Cyril backed away, flustered. "No Doc, this owl is alive."

"Ah, vell, let me just get my surgical knife—"

"No, no, it's another one!"

The way he emphasized it broke Medic out of from his enthusiastic haze.

"Oh, I see. Vell then, speak up next time and don't just dawdle zeere."

"I just did that," Cyril deadpanned, as the scientist beckoned him over to a metal table where the X-ray machines were erected.

"Place it down here."

Eyeing the doctor cautiously, Cyril carefully set the owl on the table. Medic lifted back one portion of the towel covering it.

"Oh, you poor sing, did you get into a nasty zcuffle with a goshawk?"

The owl was too exhausted to struggle when Medic unwrapped the gauze and gingerly spread out his wing.

"Ah, it looks like ze ulna is dislocated from ze radius. The metacarpus bone is protruding from its left wing…ze right ankle is definitely twisted…" he muttered. "Soft tissue swelling near the right eye. Let's help you relax, ja?"

It's too bad the Healing Ray or the Medigun couldn't instantly fix the injuries on animals. It was strictly programmed with the anatomy data for BLU only.

"What's that over there?" Cyril asked, jabbing his thumb back at the small device with the glowing rabbit shadow.

"Ah, zat! Vat you're seeing zeere is an incredible breakzrough in biological science," Medic explained, while preparing a pain killer syringe. "Mann Co. sent it over a few days ago. It's a prototype called the Reviver, but zee name's not patented yet, so zee're still working on a permanent one: Resurrector, Reanimator, Re-Lazarus…"

"So, some kind of resuscitator?"

"Ja, but it's an alternative to bringing you back to life. Zee engineers who designed it suggested our team should have a backup to zee respawn system. If it's ever destroyed or shuts off completely und vee can't fix it in time, zen vee have an expedient option."

The doctor then proceeded to administer the needle in one of the owl's thighs, while Cyril petted his head to calm it down.

"It's also portable, needing only a quarter charge of a 12-volt car battery."

This piqued Cyril's curiosity. "Portable? You mean we can take it outside respawn's radius and be revived there?"

"Zat is zee point."

"Is there anything those techies can't do?"

Medic darkly smiled. "I'd so love to hear zeir progress on a current head transplant. About four months ago, it vas performed on two monkeys. Unfortunately, they only lasted several days…such a pity, really."

Cyril decided not to ask more, finding the subject disturbing. Just then, one of the doves flew down from the rafts.

"Not now, Galen, I'm vis a patient," Medic chided. "You'll get your silkworm snack soon."

Cyril watched as the dove waddled over to the owl, and gave it a few rubs against his round, plushier head.

"You silly zhing, don't you know that owl can have your head in its beak? You did zat last time vis Soldier's eagle und look vat happened! I had to use pliers to pull you out of his zroat!"

The marksman was bit alarmed for the dove's safety. But the owl closed his eyes and made a few small chirps, enjoying the other bird's comforting caresses.

Still, Medic shoved Galen aside, somewhat irritated over his closeness to the avian predator.

"How ya doing, love bug?" Cyril asked, petting the dove.

Galen cooed contently, appreciating the affectionate gesture.

After taking the X-rays and a completing a diagnosis, Medic then demonstrated the Reviver's abilities on the dead rabbit.

"Vitness zee godly power of science," Medic announced, a smug twinkle in his eye.

He aimed his Medigun at the rabbit's glowing silhouette. A few flashes of light later, the animal's body was a live and breathing one. It began sniffing around the table, looking for some grub.

"Amazing…" Cyril marveled.

Then the rabbit gagged a few times and died again.

Medic frowned, thumbing his chin. "Hmmm, looks like zee device vill have to be tweaked a bit. It's still in its beta testing stage, after all."

. . .

Cyril headed upstairs to his room with the owl in tow. Opening the door to his room, there stood an empty cage near his desk/study area, measuring 4 ft tall x 3 ft wide x 3 ft long. It contained a few dead wood branches to perch on, small garden rocks, flowering plants, a water bowl for drinking and bathing, and a soft nest he collected from an acacia tree.

It was used multiple times to house rehabilitating owls, or the occasional bird or two. Afterwards, he released them back into the wild. He had a deeper, mysterious connection with the owls though.

He carefully placed the spotted owl in the enclosure. The raptor cautiously moved about, checking out his new home. When he was done adjusting to his temporary home, he glanced up with tired, grateful eyes.

"Thank you…"

Cyril waved it off. "Nah, 's nothing. It's what I do. What happened anyhow?"

"I was chasing after a cactus mouse, when a noisy monster came by really fast and struck me. It had four round legs and two clear eyes…I couldn't fly up in time to get out its oncoming path."

"Hmm, it wouldn't happen to be emitting a humming noise and transparent body parts you can see through?"

"Yes, yes! It also had a smooth covering over it that was gray, and a flat, wide shiny nose…"

Cyril sighed. "It sounds like you were hit by a car."

The owl titled his head. "That's what those things are? It attacked me, but didn't turn around to come eat me."

"Cars aren't alive. They're just machines that we humans use to get us around in."

"Not alive? Now that I think about it, it did have someone like you in its mouth."

"No, no mate, that's not its mouth. Doesn't have one. That's the place where a human sits in to control the car."

The owl narrowed his eyes, trying to comprehend what appeared to be a ludicrous concept. "Where did the car come from?"

"We made it. Since my kind can't run as fast as a road runner bird, we created the car to get us to our destinations quicker."

"That thing hurt! I was stunned for awhile, wondering what happened?" He then looked down, shameful. "But I admit, I should have been more careful getting in its way…"

"We make mistakes. Can't expect us to be perfect all the time."

At least the owl's screw-up wasn't as mortifying as the ones made in the last two battles at Swiftwater.

"I'm hungry…do you have any shrew or mice?"

"No, you're gonna have to do with raw chicken until I put out an order to the Newbery farm. That place is practically crawling with rodents."

"Bubo."

"Huh?"

"My name's Bubo."

That's the first time he's ever understood an owl's designation. Usually, they had names that sounded odd or were unpronounceable. "Ah, well nice meetin' ya. I'm Cyril. I gave myself that name."

Bubo was a bit puzzled. "You didn't like the one your parents gave you?"

At this, Cyril cringed a bit. "It's a long story. I'll tell you about it sometime." Wanting to quickly change the subject, he announced, "Well, I'm going downstairs to defrost some chicken. I'm sure the others won't mind a thigh or two missing. Especially since we got a stockpile of meats in the garage."

Heavy and Soldier had big appetites, so it's a good thing two large freezers were provided to store additional food. He headed for the door, before turning back with a warm smile. "I'll be right back. Don't get into any trouble."

Bubo snorted. "I highly doubt it with this broken wing and my foot feeling like it was bent backwards."

Cyril left the room and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. In the recreational area which led towards the kitchen entrance, Scout was hanging out with Pyro drawing on some sketchpads.

When he passed by them, he noticed a hauntingly familiar object that the runner was drawing. He'd seen it in his dreams – it nearly looked like a distorted version of the lambda symbol, with two flame shapes on either side and an 'X' mark in the middle.

He had even heard Demoman and Engineer mention it from their dreams. It was strange indeed – though he suspected it stemmed from their dubious origins. BLU team didn't exactly come from an egg and sperm duo – atleast, not the natural way.

"You've been dreaming of that too?" Cyril remarked.

"Yeah." Scout shrugged. "Thought I'd try my hand at doodlin' it. Not bad, huh?"

"No, it's alright..." Cyril trailed off, a bit unsettled. "You're not the least bit curious why we keep seeing it in our dreams? So much that it's clear as day?"

"I am," Scout replied. "Thought of askin' TF Industries, but you know them. They ain't sayin' anythin'; it's classified and shit. Not even Felicia has a clue. I don't know if Miss Pauling knows anythin' about it."

Cyril knew Felicia wasn't allowed to disclose information that could jeopardize company policy. Still, she admitted to him, one time, she had no idea about the symbol and that it must have come from an early memory of their cloning process.

"And if the Administrator or Blutarch knows? Shoot. Good luck gettin' anythin' out of'em."

"Those shady mongrels," Cyril muttered irritably, walking into the kitchen.

To his mild alarm, he found himself growing less loyal to them by the day. He dared not admit it outright to any of his teammates; he didn't know how they would react. If they ostracized him for not being a dedicated employee, well, it might not be pretty.

Focusing on getting Bubo some food, he opened the freezer and pulled out a pack of chicken breasts. He defrosted a few pieces in the microwave and saved the rest of it in a plastic bag.

Making his way back to his room, he opened the door to see Bubo lying on his back, with his eyes open. His chest wasn't moving in its rhythmic breathing pattern.

Thinking the worst, Cyril rushed over.

"Bubo!"

No, he can't be dead. Not so soon…

Then the owl's eyes blinked. "What?"

Cyril was relieved, but still tensed up. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"For a moment there, I thought you had keeled over and croaked!"

"No, no, I was just meditating," Bubo reassured. "The kind where you hold your breath for several moments."

"You. Meditate."

Bubo turned his small, feathery head towards the marksmen, an eager sparkle in his eyes.

"Yes! My flock thinks it's weird. But hey, it helps me to not freak out all the time."

Cyril knew Bubo came from an unusual line because he actually hung out with his family. Most owls were typically loners. They only ever got together during mating season. The only exception was the Burrowing owls, which tended to live in colonies. Some other owls that he befriended also stayed with their families. Normally, in nature, this wouldn't happen.

While quite intriguing, he was sure this was abnormal behavior. Owls weren't pack animals like humans and wolves were; therefore, they didn't have the social inclination to follow and obey orders among an established hierarchy, nor get corrected for flawed behavior by their fellow brethren.

Cyril then picked up a piece of chicken, as Bubo turned around on his uninjured side and propped himself up.

"Here." He brought the meat to the owl's beak, who hesitated for a moment, before eating it.

"Mmm, not bad. Kind of taste like frog."

"I take it you don't eat birds much."

"No, I never developed a taste for them." Bubo tentatively picked up another piece from the plate and swallowed it more confidently this time.

After awhile, he glanced around the place. "I heard you could talk to owls. I can actually understand you. I don't know how, as when you humans talk, it sounds like a bunch of garble."

Cyril was a bit bewildered. "Yeah, I don't get it either. It's like some sort of ESP."

"ESP?"

"Extrasensory perception. It's when you possess a 'sixth sense' or special ability to understand other people. Or animals. I've had it for a year now. I could understand the other owls somewhat, but not as clear as you. You're actually the first one where your conversation doesn't sound like radio interference."

"What's radio interference?"

Cyril thought to clarify it more, since he kept forgetting the owl wasn't a human. "I hear your voice, and it's not coming out in bits and pieces. Like half-formed sentences."

Bubo then ate a few more pieces, let out a yawn and decided to get some rest. Dinner was an hour away, so Cyril decided to relax as well with reading a dime novel. The following week would be a ceasefire period, so he would have extra time to tend to his new friend.

. . .

Two short beings stood in a dim-lit room, their large black eyes observing the medical data that a human scientist from TF Industries had sent them. On a plasma screen that slowly glowed a fluctuating teal, were two images of brains being compared side-by-side. One was of a human and the other, his clone. Each of the beings wore clean bio uniforms, bearing the same symbol associated with Cyril's dreams.

"Dr. Norad reports in a couple of days," one of the figures communicated internally by means of telepathy. "I find his species to be quite…picky."

"Perfectionist is another word," the other added. "A universal trait familiar with our people. But I understand why they need to achieve this critical objective. I have also been concerned that key regions of the subject's brain could result in a disruption to their cognitive functions; particularly with fulfilling their objectives in their current strife."

"Indeed, I anticipated such a discrepancy. We have seen this with the Satori and the K'uman race."

"Dr. Norad's findings are sure to cause unwarranted concern for their client."

The first being mulled over it. "Based on the past two Earth cycles, it appears it has not greatly affected the clone subjects' performances in their civil dispute. They may be learning to suppress those developed areas in their brain, whereas they're completely absent in the original subjects."

The other being turned away, still a bit unconvinced. "Let's hope it continues this way. Atleast with the other terrestrial races, they were monumental success in replicating life. We will have to see if this case produces the same results."

. . .

It was a cool, crisp morning when Cyril phoned the farm for an order of mice. Of course, the delivery truck always stopped at a little shack near the large muslin backdrop that disguised BLU base. It was used as a decoy to make it look like he lived out in the middle of nowhere and occasionally fed mice to the owls. It was sturdily built with quality wood, corrugated aluminum roofing and even had two windows. A porch, several fake plants and a mailbox finished off its rustic outer appearance. If anything, it looked like a tiny home, but without the wheels.

The driver, a young man named Jimmy, initially thought Cyril just loved to eat rodents and was surprisingly non-judgmental about it. He kept forgetting the marksman didn't eat them; it must have been some type of memory disorder.

It cost more for same day shipping, but since the farm was only about seven miles away, they always gave him a discount.

It was late afternoon when he was sitting down on the chair in front of the shack, waiting for the truck to arrive. Half of the team went off to Albuquerque to go see the Creedance Clearwater Revival concert, so only Heavy, Medic and Spy were at the base.

Again, the symbol flashed in his mind. He remembered it glowed a bright eerily green, lighting up his vision.

"Blimey, it's got to be when they rolled us off the lab conveyor belt."

How else could anyone explain it? Especially if half of the team members dreamed about it. Even Pyro started conveying it in their own kiddie drawings. An unknown urge to draw the symbol came to mind. Cyril picked up a dead tree stick and started etching it in the sand. It was like his hand was possessed at that moment - he couldn't stop it at all.

As it materialized piece by piece, he kept pondering its obscure meaning. Was it some type of company logo? Maybe a serial code to designate TF Industries products from one another? Did it represent a secret message?

He was so deep into his thoughts that he failed to detect a dangerous presence from behind.

"Quite a doodle you got there," a familiar voice spoke.

. . .

NOTE:

* Bubo's name is inspired from the mechanical owl who aids the heroes in the film, "Clash of The Titans" (old version).

. . .