Chapter 4: Insanity
"And there goes your head, you bloody wanka."
Sniper smirked in subtle satisfaction as his latest victim—a BLU Pyro—had no time to even cry out in horror as his head exploded into a pink-tinted mist. His limp body was thrown back by the force of Sniper's bullet, tumbling onto the feet of a stricken Heavy, who took one glace at his decapitated teammate before swerving back from whence he came. His booming voice trailed across the field with the volume of a war trumpet.
"Sniper on deck!"
The Australian's pleasure faded as quickly as it came when whistles pierced the air. He cursed under his breath as he dropped to the floor, the bullets sailing over where his head had been mere seconds ago. The golden spheres buried themselves into the wood, splintering the planks and causing debris to rain down onto Sniper. The lanky man scrambled away, back into the shelter of 2fort's top left tower. He pressed his back against the corner as he hastily loaded his rifle, listening to the roar of the enemy's minigun.
Why was it even called a minigun? Whoever created the massive piece of machinery must have had either a sick sense of humor or an unbearably large amount of sarcasm. Sniper had no time to muse the subject further as the bullets persisted, tearing into the rather flimsy walls surrounding him. He hissed in pain once a sudden fire erupted into his calf, triggering an entire bonfire to spread from the tip of his toe to the right side of his hip. Biting back a scream of agony, he crawled away before he heard the deafening boom of a rocket soaring from its launcher. He glanced through the window to watch the projectile soar towards the BLU Heavy, his own RED Soldier roaring at the Russian in a vociferous rampage. Unfortunately, the burly heavy weapons expert ducked, allowing the rocket to explode harmlessly behind him and the BLU Medic. Sniper grumbled in annoyance and retreated further back into his base.
He needed a medikit. Although it was not incredibly vital for Snipers to have full capabilities of both legs, the Australian didn't seem to mind removing the ball of metal imbedded into his leg. And so he limped across his base, searching the areas for the massive container holding the supplies necessary to remove the bullet. His mood darkened when he glanced back to find himself leaving a trail of blood. Oh good. Just what he needed. He was practically begging the enemy Spy to stab him in the back. What else shouted 'venerable victim' louder than a fresh track of blood?
Keeping his jarate close (Oh, he knew just how much Spies hated that little jar), he substituted his sniper rifle as a crutch as he shuffled through the halls. He tensed when he heard the soft footsteps emerge from the other end of the corridor, and he raised his jar slightly higher, eyes scanning the darkened end. Just as he saw the corner of clothing peek out from other end, he rose his jarate above him and snarled.
"Nein, Sniper! NEIN!"
The Australian hesitated once Medic (or the BLU Spy?) halted in front of him, hands thrown up over his face as he flinched.
Sniper gritted his teeth as his hand was still poised above his head. His eyes scanned over the doctor carefully, scrutinizing every detail of his face. "Well?" he demanded, rising his jar threateningly. Swiftly, the Medic preformed the RED's personal hand signal, created specifically for teammates to decipher between a Spy in disguise and the true mercenary. Satisfied, Sniper grunted and pocketed his jar, which earned a look of minor disgust from Medic. "Wot are you doing so far into base, mate?"
The panic subsidized from Medic's eyes as he sighed unhappily. "Ah, Heavy vas taken out by ze BLU Demoman. I vas forced to retreat back inside ven zeir Pyro came close. However, Scout seems to have dealt vith ze Demoman."
Sniper nodded. "Pyro's out too, for the time bein'."
The doctor quirked an eyebrow before muttering, "Danke." He glanced at the Sniper's leg, which bled more profoundly with each passing minute. "Ah, allow me." Hoisting up his medigun, he aimed the barrel at the Australian's injured leg. The machine started with a low hum, glowing with the odd red mist. He sighed in respite as the raging fire cooled.
"Thanks, mate."
The Medic only nodded in response, concentrated on the wound. Sniper watched as the bullet floated out of his leg, levitating in the air before it finally dropped onto the floor with a soft clink. Slowly, his muscles healed, the skin wrapping around the closing hole.
When Sniper had first been healed by the Medic, he had been utterly fascinated by the concept. But after years of living with a Pyromaniac, a hyperactive boy who could literally jump onto thin air, and a black Scottish cyclops who was secretly a skilled swordsman, Sniper had learned to expect the impossible, and adapted to ridiculous situations. Coming back from the dead through Respawn and replacing missing limbs in seconds was no longer a new concept to him.
"Alert! The enemy has captured our intelligence!" The Sniper and Medic looked at each other in horror once the Administrator's words rang into their ears, their jaws loosening in utter surprise. Wasn't Engie supposed to be guarding the intelligence? It'd take several minutes just to get past his sentries—
Oh. That's right. Their beloved Texan wasn't there. He was spending a week at his aunt's house, musing over legal papers regarding his mother's inheritance. He was replaced by a ginger-haired girl, who didn't even talk to them, completely missed their strategy meeting, and wasn't. Doing. Her bloody. Job.
Before Sniper could growl in fury, he noticed the air shimmering above the Medic. A cold, deep sense of dread took him, and he opened his mouth to alert the German. His reflexes, however, were far too slow to match with the BLU Spy's, who glistened into existence with his knife falling in between Medic's shoulder blades. The man gave a sharp gasp and jolted, unintentionally burying the blade deeper into his flesh. Sniper realized with dismay that the BLU Spy must have struck a vital organ, for Medic's eyes rolled to the back of his head. He gave a final shudder before collapsing onto the floor with a sickening thump. Sniper groped for his jarate, fingers curling around the smooth surface, fingernails screeching against the glass in a desperate attempt to yank it out. The BLU Spy's eyes flared with terror, which soon was replaced by immediate determination. He yanked his butterfly knife out of Medic's corpse with an appalling squelching sound before advancing toward Sniper. With incredible speed, he swiped his knife in a graceful arch at Sniper, who dodged swiftly. Unfortunately, he did not evade the blade completely, for it tore his clothes and earned him a long scratch along the length of his arm. He snarled before finally abandoning the attempt of retrieving his jarate, instead unsheathing his kukri.
He knew how to fight in close combat; he lived in the Outback for four years. He battled against crocs every other day, fitting his grip onto their massive jaws to pry them open. He was still alive, so of course he knew how survive with just a knife and the blaring heat on his back. But Spy wasn't the Outback, and definitely not some croc. Spies were far more dangerous. They were snakes. They coiled around you, sneering at you as they slithered away from any slash you made with your kukri. Their angular eyes always stared into your very soul, freezing you in place before they sank their fangs into your flesh.
And no matter how many years he spent battling against this one damned Spy-no matter how many times he studied the Spy's movements and calculated his speed-he was always unpredictable, the sly cheeky wanka. The RED team was skilled, yes. They had won countless battles against the BLU, stepping over the guts and blood of their enemies and relishing in their glorious victory. Their mercenaries held experience and skill ordinary soldiers would cower under. But the BLU team?
Sniper released a low growl at the base of his throat as he thrust the kukri at the BLU Spy's throat, who evaded the blade nimbly. His eyes shimmered with victory while Sniper felt his gut sink in defeat, knowing full well the limits of his skills. The Spy spun behind him, flashing his dagger as if it was some prizewinning trophy, before Sniper felt the knife sink it.
He did nothing to keep the agonized cry contained in his lips. The blade brought a new definition to the word 'pain', along with that sharp, fiery, spark that grew across his back like a tree's roots, and just remained, savoring every slowing heart beat and every passing fear. Sniper's vision quickly darkened as he felt hands slowly lower him to the ground, the agony tearing at his mind.
Well, maybe that was the reason why the REDs were fighting against the BLUs. Because the BLUs were the only ones that could hold their own against the REDs. And even win.
"Alert! The enemy has captured our intelligence!"
Spy paused for a moment, his 'Spy-cicle' hovering inches from the BLU Sniper's neck as he glared out into the open field. His fellow RED team froze, eyes wide in either dismay or fury, before swiftly returning to their own base, parting ways to cover every and any exit point. Even Scout, who looked longingly at the BLU base, sped off with his teammates, realizing the foolishness of darting into an enemy base with no back-up. Spy frowned, sheathing his dagger into the Sniper's neck and ignoring the man's surprised cry, which was quickly extinguished when he turned into solid ice. Brushing the dust off his crimson suit, he swiftly cloaked again before slinking off towards RED base.
A small part of him had hoped that the Administrator hadn't lost her mind after the years of war. He had hoped that she still held a small piece of sanity when she selected the replacement of their Engineer. He held a small optimism that perhaps, just perhaps, their replacement was intelligent and efficient, just like their Engineer. Those wishes, however, were immediately thwarted last night, during the Operator's absence at the meeting. Since then, the Spy had wallowed in disappointment glazed over with indifference, which had then transformed into recognition.
Of course the Administrator would give them a dead weight for a teammate. She wanted to observe the team's efficiency with the absence of defense. She wanted to monitor their strengths and limitations, and see exactly how quickly they crumbled under the slightest touch, or if they remained strong without their Engineer. Spy was unconcerned by this; he would meet the challenges readily, prepared to do whatever was necessary to achieve his goal and pass whatever test the Administrator was putting him through. But his team?
Each of them was far too thick and focused on their own goals to fathom what Spy said and did on a daily basis, besides perhaps the Sniper. But that was to be expected; the Australian's job was to observe each and every one of them from a distance, be it RED or BLU. But he was far too dull to understand the Spy or his silent schemes. With enough poking and prodding, he could influence his teammates into any plan he created. So he had no doubt that he could manage his team through this test of the Administrator's.
Unless it wasn't a test. Unless it was something far more…personal, meant only for a certain mercenary who discovered several very dirty secrets of the Administrator's. Perhaps she had discovered who hacked into her computers and searched her files, perhaps…
'Non, non. Do not be such an imbecile. Focus on the task at hand.'
Spy snapped himself from his musings as he slithered through the corridors of his own base, his weapon poised and prepared for any assault, which certainly wouldn't be necessary if the Operator was doing her part. He scanned the halls carefully for any sign of the BLU Scout (he was quite certain it was the BLU Scout, for who else could capture the intelligence so quickly?), prepared to ambush the young mercenary in the shelter of the deep shadows. However, before he made his way down the second passageway, there was a muffled boom as an explosion shook the ground, followed by a pause. Suddenly, Spy heard an agonized screech echo through the base.
"The enemy has dropped our intelligence."
Spy frowned, walking through the hallway at a faster pace. Demoman couldn't have killed the Scout; the delay was too long. Who had killed the Scout? Perhaps it wasn't entirely of importance, but what was a Spy if not curious? Rounding the corner of yet another hallway, he finally found what he expected. And yet, it was so incredibly startling.
The BLU Scout was indeed lying motionless on the floor, the RED suitcase sitting on the ground several feet with several dents in it, due to the impact of Scout's descent. As the Spy inched forward, he heard the sharp hiss of warning, and he immediately halted. Peering through the darkness, he found Demoman at the far end of the hall, his dark skin closely blending with the shadows. His lone eye glowed from beneath the darkness, staring wide-eyed at Spy. His lips were parted in shock, but the firm glare that he gave the Frenchman was enough to keep him from moving. Spy quirked an eyebrow, glancing around him in a silent gesture of puzzlement. Demoman did not shift, shifting his gaze between Spy and their enemy with barely-restrained shock. The Spy studied the Scout a second time, trying to decipher the reason for Demoman's odd behavior.
The Scout's body was mostly concealed in shadows, and Spy was forced to strain his eyes to peer closer. His eyes widened slightly, his brow lifting as he stared at the form, struggling not to expose his utter revulsion. Their enemy was cut in half. It was clean, neat cleavage that completely separated his torso into two parts. But this cut was curious than most—alright, perhaps curious a slight understatement. It was appalling. For not only was the wound grotesquely precise, it was cauterized. The skin was melted and burnt to a crisp, forming a barrier of charred flesh to prevent the organs and blood from spilling out onto the floor. It left a revolving cloud of the most ghastly stench hanging over the body, and it took every ounce of Spy's willpower and pride not to spill his half-digested breakfast onto the floor. Instead, he cleared his throat steadily and adjusted his tie casually to disguise his overwhelming disgust.
"I see…What exactly 'appened?"
Demoman grimaced at the memory, taking a swig of his scrumpy (where on earth did he find more?) as he shook his head. "I was plannin' on ambushin' the bloody rabbit down the corridor, but the lad jumped over me bombs just as I activated 'em. I was hot on his tail as he was running down the hall, then…" He paused, wrinkling his nose in repulsion. "These lights just appeared out of the bloody walls and sawed the boy in half! Right down to the bone!" He added emphasis on his last word by taking another gulp of his bottle, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth.
The Spy processed the new information in silence, pulling a cigarette from his case and lighting it. The taste of tobacco helped his mind clear, the smoke refreshing his senses as he lowered his brow in thought. It couldn't be a new security system; the Administrator would have informed him of the addition, so not to alarm the mercenaries. It was certainly not something the Engineer had installed, for he would have also told them of his new design. Cautiously, Spy inched forward, much to his cyclops friend's distress. Knitting his eyebrows together, he studied the wall, searching for possible burn marks or holes. He ran his gloved hand over the boards, feeling for any divot that might indicate the location of the 'lights'.
"Ah, so you found the Wispies, French Fry!"
Demoman tensed immediately, snapping his grenade launcher up towards the sudden sound as his eye burned with adrenaline. Although he felt his heart skip a beat, Spy kept his expression neutral as he calmly turned to the voice. Displaying a mask of indifference, he rose an eyebrow as he watched their short replacement stroll down the hall, her lips still quirked in the overly-zealous smile. She looked just as she did yesterday, with the addition of a large, transparent brace strapped around her left wrist. Bright colors danced across its surface before fading with a shimmer, Operator's fingers swiping across it with intense speed and ease.
"'Wispies'", Demoman echoed, voice still laden in astonishment. He shook himself from his shock and took a step forward. "What the bloody hell are Wispies?"
Operator's smirk grew wider as she murmured, "These." With a flick of her hand across her odd brace, a low crackling sound resounded before a fishnet of bright lights emerged from the wall where the Scout had been, bathing the hallway in a dim crimson light. The girl's eyes glowed eerily in the scarlet radiance as she stared proudly at the so-called 'Wispies'. Spy glanced at Demoman for confirmation, who caught his eye and nodded slightly. These were indeed the lights that cleaved the Scout in two.
Before Spy had the chance of considering commenting, heavy-weighted footsteps thrummed against the floor boards, followed by the ominous whirring of a specific five-barreled minigun. Shouting out "Duck!", the Spy tore down the hallway, throwing his full weight onto Demoman and causing them both to tumble to the floor. The BLU Heavy's minigun roared to life like a savage predator, filling the air with red-hot bullets. They gnashed at the wood above the two mercenaries, showering them with debris. With hisses and angry curses, the RED team struggled to untangle themselves and escape the minigun's range of fire. Sparing a glance behind his shoulder, Spy watched the Heavy advance, his lips brought to a grim smile as he sprayed his ammo at the RED's heads. Knowing full well that Spy could not escape in time, he froze, wishing not the first time to have the Dead Ringer. He waited for his inevitable fate with baited breath and a thundering heart. Although he would wake up fifteen minutes later in the Respawn room with a massive headache and a taste of ash in his mouth, dying was still incredibly unpleasant.
But the bullets never struck his body. He never felt the searing pain of a thousand insects feasting on his flesh. Instead, it was the BLU Heavy that fell, beheaded by a second set of 'Wispies' that ran across the ceiling. A swift, sudden hiss resounded when the giant lost his head, and the whirring of the minigun ceased immediately, falling to the ground with a loud clatter. The BLU Medic, standing several feet way, froze in horror as he watched his patient collapse lifelessly to the ground, his massive head rolling away. Shaking himself, he glared at Operator, retrieving his syringe gun, and aimed it at her frail form. With speed that almost matched the Scout's, Operator pulled out her own weapons from their holsters, and began to fire.
Spy was an emotionless being, labeling any sentiment as unnecessary and surplus. He felt none of it, for that was the very essence of his profession. Feelings were inadequate and pathetic, which was why Spy chose to discard them long ago. He had never experienced any further emotion during the past decade, and he intended to keep it as such.
So there was no possible way, not an inkling of a chance, that Spy was afraid at that moment. His spine certainly did not shiver when the girl began to cackleas she pierced her enemy over and over again with bullets. He definitely did not feel disturbed as that spark emerged in her eyes, far more intense and blood-thirsty than before. Spy's tongue did not go dry and his mouth did not taste like ash as he watched the BLU Medic collapse onto the ground, and yet Operator was still spraying him with bullets. And as her high-pitched laughter echoed across the hallway—as her eyes shown with complete and utter insanity—she continued to squeeze the trigger after her handguns expelled every last ball of lead, her shoulders shaking with each manacle screech.
Spy was perplexed, perhaps. He might even go as far as concerned. But he was most definitely, in all honesty, not utterly disturbed by her laughter, that seemed it would never cease. The masked man, who had experienced pain and torture no sane human could endure, and still slept peacefully, would certainly not have haunted dreams with those harrowing, inhuman cackles screeching in his ears.