A/N: Hey guys~ Sorry for the delay! I had most of a chapter done yesterday, but it was shorter than I would have liked, and I wasn't able to crank out the part that it was missing - I managed to do that on our all-day drive today though, and most of the next chapter! c:

I ended up finding out today that a large amount of the typos I make are not actually typos but are because the character who had just spoken began to bleed into their description. Ex: Anything after Medic's quotes ended up having v's instead of w's. whoops.

To datlamb: I'm so glad you're loving this! You can't believe how happy it makes me to know you're enjoying it and that I'm not royally screwing everything up like I'm always convinced I am c:

To anonymous: I'll be cranking these chapters out as often as I can~! Glad to know you want more 3

A huge thanks to Lanny-Sama, Sukauto Doragon, SuperMiniMutt, XDhampiresaX, and spekularyon for following! C:

And an even bigger thanks to Annacat101 for telling me when I'm outright being stupid, or said a word twice, or what I could do to make something more amusing.

Here's hoping you all enjoy!

Oh, and reviews keep me going~ Telling me how you like a certain character's portrayal, or hate how I write another character really helps, I promise! Besides, if you loathe the way I write a certain character, I'll either check out what I'm doing wrong and fix it, or stop writing that character c: Or something. So yeah~

And remember, RATINGS WENT UP FOR A REASON c: not necessarily in this chapter, but the remainder of this story will be dark.

When Scout next awoke, he was propped up against the far wall, his injured leg lying out sideways to keep from putting pressure on the arrow. His ankles and wrists had been untied. He tried to shift slightly, and pain stabbed through his chest. His breath shuddered from his lips, and he moved his head in the slightest, a slow ache building in the back of his skull. Scout looked down at his hands and realized that the cuts there had started bleeding again and the bandages had changed from white to mostly red. Managing to look up, he saw the shadow of a man leaning against the wall, holding something. He realized it was RED's Sniper, the Australian's lanky form always familiar, even through half-lidded eyes, with a mind riddled by pain.

"What'ah you….doin' here…?" he finally managed to ask, resting his head back against the wall. The side of his face felt sticky, and although he could not raise his hands to check, he could guess what it was.

"What d'ya think I'm doin'? Makin' sure yew don't pull anythin' funny. Though 'ah doubt you could, in that sorry state." The sniper smirked at him, looking down at him from the top of his sunglasses. "Yer' jest lucky our Scout got in my way, or yer brains'd just be a smear on the dirt," he explained calmly, looking at the kukuri in his hands boredly. "Y'know, professional courtesy an' all." He glanced over to the door, a slow smile spreading across his face. Scout followed his gaze sluggishly, staring at the door in confusion.

"I bet ya'…don't have the guts ta' kill me," he taunted, as cocky as he would be uninjured. It was the easiest nature of his to default to – he could be annoying without thinking about it.

"The door's unlocked, yew know," the sniper answered him, a mocking glint in his eye. "But 'ah bet you couldn't get over there if yew tried."

"Why should I bother? I think I like sittin' here…better," Scout replied tartly, dragging his gaze back to the RED. He wouldn't admit that he could barely move his head, that crawling like this would probably make him pass out. He also doubted that the sniper didn't know this.

"Suit yerself. I could do this all day." The RED glanced up at the wall behind Scout, listening intently. The runner couldn't hear anything, so he guessed that there was some interesting conversation going on in the RED channel. Or something like that. "Looks like 'ah won't have'ta though," the Australian added, saying nothing more on the subject. Somehow, Scout thought that would not bode well.

He was proven right a minute later when the door jumped open, RED's Soldier striding in, his shovel strapped to his belt. "Now then, maggot, where were we?" he asked, though it really was closer to a yell.

"Somewhere 'round…how much you suck," Scout replied, grinning, though he probably looked a mess. Now that he thought about it, one of his eyes seemed unwilling to open any further than he had it then, a little less than half-open.

"You BLU earthworms never learn, do you!" The soldier shouted, pulling out his shovel.

"Whadda'ya' gonna do, beat my brains out and hope they'll talk…?" Scout asked, his arms laying beside him on the floor.

"Haf'ta' wondah' if our Scout beat 'im stupid or 'e was just born that way," the sniper muttered.

"Both!" The soldier punctuated his answer with a slap to Scout's face using the handle of his shovel. The BLU team member's head snapped to the side and he coughed. Spitting blood and a shard of tooth onto the ground, he turned back to his captors.

"That the best you can do, doitchbag?" he asked, smirking crookedly at them as if his mouth weren't full of blood and the side of his cheek swelling.

"Do ya' wanna' die, kid?" RED's Sniper asked, looking at him in slight confusion. The door behind them burst open, and Scout watched, his mind barely registering the events, as RED's Spy stumbled in.

"Gentlemen…we have a problem." The Frenchman somehow managed to say it calmly, despite the blue-tipped arrow sticking from his gut. He took another step, his leg buckling beneath him, and crumpled to the floor.

"Bloody 'ell!" the RED Sniper exclaimed, bending down to pull his teammate into the room, moving to rest him on a pile of straw. "We're gonna' need a Medi-…a first-aid kit."

"Take him to the hospital wing! I'll stay with the prisoner!" their Soldier shouted, waving them out of the room. He pulled his gun from his back and followed them out, slamming the door shut behind him. Scout let himself slide from his sitting position, landing sideways on the floor with a soft thud. He grunted, dragging his arms in front of him and digging his nails into the cracks between the floorboards. Dragging himself along the floor, he thought that the process was far too similar to the one before. At least this time he did not have to rely so much on his chin or legs, though even moving his arms shot agony through his chest. Whatever. He could not leave his dogtags behind.

He refused to.

Managing to get just an inch away from them, he stretched his arm, gritting his teeth through the pain, and snatched them from the floor, holding them tightly in a fist. His headset was also nearby, so he took it with his other hand and put it back on, despite the fact that all he could hear was static. It didn't matter. As soon as he had retrieved both of his possessions, he rolled onto his back, exhaling shallowly, groaning at the pain. His bag and weapons were undoubtedly as good as gone.

But at least he had his brother's tags.

Scout pulled his left hand back, resting it over his chest. He gazed dully at the door, his cheek pressed against the floor. The runner sighed, his eyes slipping shut. The fritzing static somehow lulled him into a half-sleep.

Until, of course, the door burst open, the sounds of bullets being fired dragging him back from wherever he had drifted. The RED soldier backed into the room, firing at the wall as if there was something there. The gun clicked empty, and the general discarded it, pulling out his shovel. Scout finally saw what was causing the RED to retreat – BLU's Spy was advancing, his deadly Ambassador pulled out and ready. He aimed it at the RED's forehead, dead-center, and continued advancing. At the last moment, he swung the gun down and shot the soldier in the shoulder. While the general recoiled in both surprise and pain, Spy walked swiftly toward him, slammed him over the head with his heavy gun, and announced, "This chaos is far too amusing to end so early."

Scout coughed, droplets of blood spattering on the floor in front of him. Spy seemed to notice he was conscious then, and walked over, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. Looking down at him, he raised his eyebrow sardonically, smirking softly. "As well as you hid our information, you are still very stupid, hm?" he said, doing nothing to help the downed runner. "Yes, Sniper, I have found him," he sighed, exasperated. "Up the first staircase, second hallway on your left, the open door. Yes, yes, he is still alive. Mostly. Be swift – I am leaving." The Frenchman dropped a bag by the door – Scout's pack of gear? – and took a long drag of the cigarette, walking from the room.

It took a few minutes before Scout heard any sounds, and even after hearing the staccato tramp of footsteps, nothing happened. Sniper finally appeared in the doorway, his submachine gun out, searching the room for enemies. When the Australian spotted Scout on the floor, he rushed over, eyes widened, kneeling beside him.

"Oi, kid, stay with me," he murmured, tucking the gun away into its holster, checking over Scout's injuries.

"Hey man," he rasped, coughing again. "Took ya' long enough."

"Yeah well, you know Soldier. Always plannin'." Sniper slid his arms underneath Scout, frowning at the immediate groan of pain. "C'mon, we'll get yew tah' Medic, and you'll be alright. You just gotta' hang in there," the Australian assured him, picking him up in one swift motion.

"No problem…" the runner was unable to suppress a grunt of pain at the movement, and his right hand remained clenched around the dogtags. "Yo', could ya' grab my bag on your way out, man?" he managed to ask.

"Savin yer' life first, pickin' up after you like a nanny second, what's next?" Sniper asked, shaking his head even as he kicked the bag up into his hand.

"Thanks man," he managed before a cough forced itself from his throat. "…I owe ya' one." Scout did not miss the worried glint in the Australian's eyes, but it was quickly pushed away, replaced by determination. Sniper stepped out of the room, checking the hallway before running out and heading back the way he had come.

He slid to a stop at the top of the stairs and ducked suddenly, the wall behind them exploding in clouds of dust and wood chips. Finding a box, he crouched with his back to it, keeping Scout between him and the REDs down below. "Soldier! Demo! Need some covah' fire here!" he snapped into his microphone, shifting Scout so that he could pull out his submachine gun. He aimed the barrel of the gun down over the railing of the stairs and fired without aiming, shooting in a mostly sweeping pattern. The barrage aimed at them stopped, and the BLU team members heard the surprisingly comforting sound of a missile exploding against the wall beneath them. The Australian tucked away his gun, pulling Scout's pack over his shoulder and picking the kid up again. Scout's concentration began to fade out, the red walls around him beginning to sway and spin.

"Thanks, mate. Ah'll be damned if I let 'em kill me," Sniper growled, moving along the wall by the stairs slowly, carefully. It would have been easier if he could have slung Scout over his shoulder, or if the kid could even walk with some assistance, but neither was quite possible now.

Peeking down the stairs revealed that the REDs had gone outside to fight off Soldier and Demo, so Sniper stood and trotted down the steps quickly, stopping by the doorway and checking the arena outside. No one was readily aiming a gun at them, so he slipped out, running out along the edge of the field. The bouncing made Scout groan in pain, his empty left hand clenching into a fist, the nails digging into the bandaged cuts in his palm. "'m tired, ma'…" he mumbled, his head lolling against Sniper's chest. "No more…"

"Bloody—hang in there, kid. We're almost there." Sniper risked exposing them in favor of moving faster, doing his best to sprint across the field even with Scout's weight added to his own. "Medic! Are yew on standby?" The Australian waited a moment, before nodding to himself. "On our way." He ran along the walls of the BLU base and kicked open the doors, jogging in. "Soldier! Home safe! Get back when yew can!" He did not stop running, alerting Heavy just moments before they reached the hospital wing, finding the doors already opened when he skid around the corner.

Sniper jogged through the open doors, out of breath, setting the kid as gently as he could on one of the cots. "Hey, kid. Scout. Answer me, mate. Yer' safe now." He did not leave the room as he could have, instead watching Medic rush around the downed runner, pulling the arrow from his thigh with a tsking sound.

"Zhat arrow did not hav a clean exit—zhe vound is larger zhan it should be," the German muttered, talking to no one in particular.

"Five moah' minutes, ma'…'s Saturday, there ain't no school…" Scout managed, mumbling, his head turned toward Sniper. It was then that the Australian noticed that the kid's left eye was swollen mostly shut, his lip torn, and his head bleeding, the liquid seeping out from under his hat. Sniper pulled off his headset and hat, setting them on the bedside table, looking over the kid's head as Medic began his work. He felt over the bump gently, and his hands came away sticky with blood.

"'ow's this kid even alive?" he grumbled, eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses.

"Simple. He does not know that by rights, he zhould be dead. Therefore, he is still alive," Medic explained matter-of-factly. "It is how Soldier's rocket jumps work," the German added.

"That don't make any sense," Sniper answered, frowning as he ruffled Scout's hair.

"It isn't supposed to." Medic flicked the switch on his gun and aimed it at Scout's chest, then his head, and finally his leg. The gun sputtered, spitting out a few more doses of healing ions, and died. The German frowned, hit it with the heel of his hand, and sighed. "Scheisse. If I cannot get zhis charged again, zhen we are done. I vill go speak with Engineer. Zhere is nothing to do now but vait." Medic hefted his pack over his shoulder, leaving the room swiftly, Heavy following without a word.

"And hope it is enough."

Engineer was sitting within the respawn room, tinkering with the machines and blueprints he had scavenged up. He had done his best to sketch out and label what he did see, and was now probing further into the layers beneath. It was an intriguing mystery, a problem like the ones he loved to solve. This was where his knowledge would come in handy. Sure, he loved his sentries and dispensers like his children, but there was little more upgrading he could do. This…this worked his mind like any good puzzle, and it even gave him a time limit – rather, if he solved it after everyone was dead, then what good would it do?

He had finally gotten into the system, locating the data of the chips that he had read about earlier. There were nine different logs in this file, and each was labeled with a class name. The Texan selected his own log first, out of pure curiosity. The window that opened was filled with text and coding, and he searched through its entirety for anything of importance. Within, he found every minor detail in his life that made him who he was, as well as an expansive schematic on the build and appearance of his body, scars and all. It looked like a file type that updated itself very frequently, too.

Engineer opened up the other eight files, each looking similar to his own – all except for Pyro's. The late firebug's file was blank. Empty. As if there had never been any data there in the first place. The Texan ran a quick search on the system, looking for a back-up of these files. Either there was none, or it had updated too, deleting Pyro's entire existence. Engineer slipped a hand under his helmet, scratching at his hair in wonder.

Absentmindedly reaching into his toolbox, he pulled out a switchblade, flicking it open and glancing down at the shining metal. Engineer flicked open his log again, checking the body schematic and zooming in on the imaging of his hand. With a swift motion, he sliced open the back of his wrist, above the Gunslinger. Instantly, the image reloaded itself, a small square in the back of the image's neck glowing for a moment, this time with the cut visible on his wrist. Was that where the chip was? At the base of each member's skull? The Texan hummed, flicking the knife shut after wiping it down and tossed it back into the toolbox.

So these chips – wherever they were – were still communicating with this machine. There was nothing wrong with that connection, nothing needed fixing. Then where was the problem?

The door opened behind him, so quietly that Engineer almost didn't notice, but then the clicking of boots made him look up and over his shoulder. "Medic," the Texan greeted him, surprised to see the healing gun on the German doctor. "'ow can I help you?"

"I vant to see if you can perhaps charge up my gun. Or if you know a vay to do so. Ve cannot last too much longer vithout it. I may be a doctor, but I am no miracle-worker."

"Bring it 'ere. Maybe we can get it ta' work," Engineer replied, his hand going to his wrench, spinning it as he set his mind to the problem. Medic placed the pack and gun down beside him and the Texan frowned, setting down his beloved tool. "What about Ubercharge? Did that get anywhere near ready when ya' were healin' the others?"

"I believe zo. Generally it charges up quickly enough, and certainly before the gun vould normally be drained."

"Maybe I can get the Ubercharge to drain itself and charge up yer' gun. If we're careful, this process could be repeatable too. Not so effective as truly chargin' it, but it'll keep us alive." Engineer nodded to himself, the plans beginning to form in his mind, blueprints already writing themselves as he filled the details in. "Shouldn't be too hard. Gimme' a bit o' time, and I'll have it fixed up for ya'. Is anyone dyin' as we speak, or do I have some time to work it?" he asked, his hands already reaching to open up the pack.

"Ve are not certain. Zhe gun died on me as I vas healing Herr Scout. You have some time, to be sure, I simply do not know how much." Medic nodded, turning to leave. He stopped halfway to the door, turning back to face the Texan. "Oh, and have you found zhe chip you spoke of?"

"As a matter o' fact, I have! C'mere, I'll show you," Engineer replied, waving the German doctor over. As the man returned, the Texan turned back to the system machine. "See this image? Each team member's got one, and it's a perfect schematic of their body in its current state."

"Interesting…" Medic murmured, staring at it curiously.

"And right there," Engineer pointed his finger at the base of his image's neck, "is where the chip is. At least, mine is. I have yet to check the other logs."

"You believe zhey are in different locations?"

"They could be. Don't see why not." The Texan pulled up another log – Demo's – and spun it, selecting his head and zooming in. "Ah—there it is. Same place," he muttered, looking closer. In fact, now that he thought about it, he could almost see a slight bump where the chip was – though he easily could have been imagining it.

"And you zhink zhere is something wrong with zhis chip?" Medic asked, leaning back for a moment, nonplussed.

"'m not sure. Chip's communicatin' fine with this machine, but ah' dunno' 'bout the actual Respawn mechanism. Could be that the problem's there. I'll check it out when I finish with yer' gun," Engineer replied, thoughtful.

" I vill leave you to your vork, then. Danke, Herr Engineer, for your help," Medic told him, turning and leaving the room.

"These guys break things faster 'n a bull in a china shop," the Texan huffed, pulling his toolbox closer and setting to work, all the while pondering on those chips. The Respawn system could wait – hopefully.