The wing of the RED base dedicated to sleeping quarters had much smaller vents than the control and construction areas. I slowly crawled through, hardly daring to breathe, barely making the fit despite my slim build. To my surprise the problem was not dust but a thin layer of grimy soot radiating from their 'kitchen.' I guessed that it was Gasmask's doing though I could not guess the reason. All I knew was that it was going to take a lifetime to get it out of my suit.

Despite the tight fit and the grime, I was grinning ear to ear.

The new defensive countermeasures, particularly those damned heart monitors, had significantly hampered my ability to do my job. As intel was next to impossible to collect during the quiet hours, I had to solely rely on intrusions during firefights, when the monitors were useless. I'd often come back with blood on my suit. Mine.

It was fine until our old medic was given a combination execution and cremation courtesy of Gasmask, almost coinciding with severe damage done to my cloaking device that was yet to be repaired. I could still sap sentries using disguises, but with the cooling device in the cloak broken entering their base became impossible. Sadly, cloaks and mediguns were both in the narrow realm of mechanics Engineer doesn't know forwards and back. I compensated by reestablishing the outside network, even obtaining all their dossiers, but that didn't provide the real time intel we needed.

This hare-brained scheme could only end poorly, but at least I was doing something.

I finally reached my destination and clicked on my cloak, hoping the room wasn't hot enough to kill it before the tasks' completion. Silently I removed the grate and then affixed it to the wall using a couple dabs of goo from Demo's sticky bombs. Grabbing the metal rafters and lowering myself to the ground was a reminder that I wasn't twenty anymore, but I did succeed in getting down without noise. A feat indeed as the medic's workbench was directly under the vent. Various tools were scattered across its surface; no parts. If I wasn't barely breathing I would have sighed. If only it was that easy.

Beside the desk was the safe that contained my objective, fully secured. The wall to my right contained several boxes which appeared to serve as the medic's closet and a cabinet which likely contained medical supplies. To my left, the door and a small crate with the man's gloves, glasses, tie, and clock sitting on top. Across from the vent lay the means to my end, sleeping on a mattress set on a couple pieces of broken beams. The room was barely longer than the bed and little floor was left exposed. Little room to run if he discovered me.

The medic was lying on his back, head to the wall, still in his shirt and trousers. After a cautious minute I determined he was still asleep and unaware of my presence. No surprise there as my entry was flawless, but a good spy always checks. Otherwise they end up a dead spy very quickly.

I knelt down next to his makeshift night table and pulled the vial of diluted and altered serum from my pocket. It took a little fiddling but I was able to alter it from an injection to an ingested drug (successfully and amusingly tested on Sniper). With a small length of string I dribbled three drops between his slightly parted lips. It did not wake him, the fluid almost tasteless and warmed by my body heat. He only swallowed, readjusted, and then remained still save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

I counted the seconds in my head as I waited for the drug to take effect. After rolling up the string and returning the serum to my pocket I stood and more closely inspected the man's belongings. I didn't dare open the potentially squeaky desk drawers, and the items across the top were neither unique nor terribly important. Nothing was hidden amongst his clothes in the boxes and there were no hidden compartments in his boots. After some careful consideration I took the risk of opening the cabinet; luckily the doors were well oiled. The contents were disappointing; only a stack of blank medical charts, a box of cheap pens, and a row of pill bottles. Even if I could afford to steal medicine the medic likely kept close track of, there was nothing there we didn't already have.

I glared at the safe and the small blinking light indicating the alarm system was armed. Here was my nemesis. I would prevail.

Once I was sure that a man of any drug tolerance would be feeling the effects (except possibly Demo), I pulled a second vial from my jacket. I swished the thick syrup around my mouth before swallowing the excess; an agent to nullify any lingering serum. It wouldn't do to be drugged myself, after all. I then activated my disguise kit, assuming the appearance of the RED sniper. Shaggy blond hair, close-set gray eyes, this odd turn to his nose... I felt thankful that our Sniper was handsome. I'd rather disembowel myself than tell him that, but the aesthetics were certainly better on our side of the battle line.

Still cloaked, I studied the medic for a moment more and wondered where the attraction lay. True, we hadn't seen enough of their sniper to get a round estimate of his personality, but first impressions were rather sour. Particularly the way he practically threw himself at Demogirl's cleavage. I mentally shrugged. Maybe the medic was just hopelessly drawn to hopelessly straight men. Besides, it's best not to look a gift horse too closely in the mouth. Even in this desert and this fight.

It was time to get to work.

I left the cloak on and leaned against the desk; if he woke and the drug was not effective there was still a chance I could get away. I started with barely audible mumbles of nothing in particular, testing the waters. I gradually raised my volume to the barest whisper. The medic still did not stir. Another raise in voice, toeing the line between whisper and quiet speech. He moved slightly, his face showing recognition. I continued, fading from that volume back down to mumbles and back again. He was aware of my, or rather, the sniper's voice, but he was not awake. Still in the land between dreams and reality, I decided, held there by the serum. Science is a beautiful thing.

I took a slow and deep breath, soundless. The high I felt on my way in had faded in the face of the mission. I was steady. I took the next step.

I knelt next to the night table again, farther away than when I drugged the man, barely within reach and with a clear path to the desk should the need arise to hide under it. The cloak disengaged with the barest static crackle; he did not seem to notice. Sitting there with the sniper's appearance I again whispered until that touch of recognition crossed the medic's face. Slow, steady, I reached out my hand and gently brushed his cheekbone while softly saying 'medic.'

A frown. A sigh. He drifted back down. Again, this time touching the line of his jaw. A greater stirring. A deeper frown. The third time I used more pressure, still light but not a feather touch. When I touched his lips, his head flopped towards me and his eyes opened the tiniest fraction.

"Sni..." he managed, groggily, before being pulled back into twilight.

I whispered some more, fading to nothing. I decided that was enough for the first night. I reengaged the cloak, eased myself into the vent feet first, and reattached the grate. Gone without detection. The first night, a success.

-------

Despite the first night being a perfect success it took around three hours to convey that fact to the team. It seemed I didn't fully convey the concept of the plan. Mostly the 'taking at least a week' part of it. Or maybe I left that out intentionally since Engineer's hardhat sometimes seems too tight.

"I was under the impression that I'd be reverse-engineering right now--"

I took a long, calming drag off my cigarette. I knew this was coming but it was still beyond annoying. "This serum was developed for use in brainwashing. It has a cumulative effect and works well with repeating patterns. It will take time before the dream has fully taken root--"

"It won't take my time for my boot to fully take root in your--"

"Wankers," we were greeted by a just-woke-up Sniper. He grabbed his mug, his pot of the sludge he liked to call coffee, and headed for the door.

Soldier decided it was time to chime in, drill sergeant tone turned up to the maximum setting. "What kind of tactics do you think you're using?"

"Spy tactics." You air-headed morons, I did not add. At least Demo had wandered off, deeming the conversation less interesting than things that go boom. Scout followed in agreement. That left me against the hard-heads.

"You blokes have no patience." The three of us looked at Sniper, lingering in the doorway. "Give it a week. Then bite his fruity head off."

I realized that I momentarily felt grateful for the fact that someone understood the importance of waiting. I shook it off before I could start liking Sniper. It was bad enough that Scout managed it.

Engineer grudgingly agreed to a week and stomped off to do something with his gears and wrenches and grease. Soldier, of course, refused to surrender the fight. It took me an hour to get the flour out of my sleeve but the impromptu smoke bomb was effective. Wondering what component of his bombs used unbleached bread flour, I sauntered off to the field with binoculars in hand. With an actual job to do once night fell, the daytime slog didn't seem that bad.

-------

The second night was much like the first, minus the taut apprehension in the face of the complete unknown. It was still one of the more dangerous things I'd ever done, to be sure, but at least I had a clearer view of the road ahead. I repeated the pattern, drugging him, waiting, gradually building to a loud whisper. I pushed the touch slightly further, still ever mindful that I had to take this slow, spending perhaps a minute ghosting over the side of his face. Again he stirred, groggy and unfocused due to the drug, and mumbled incoherently. I left it at that.

-------

The third night I began to pick up the pace; while this had to take time there was only so much time I could take. I upped the dose by two drops to facilitate the change. Less time spent on the whispers, more time spent on the touches. I let my hand grow heavier, still gentle and light but in full contact with his skin. I strayed from his cheek and jaw to trace what neck was exposed. No longer at arm's length, I leaned in close and trailed my breath along his ear.

His reaction to that was both greater and less than those from the first two nights; his eyes remained half-open but the awareness was severely dimmed. I waited until he was on the brink of losing consciousness before laying a simple kiss on the corner of his mouth. He faded back into sleep and I took my leave.

-------

My fourth visit was much like the one before, apart from a few extra chaste touches of my lips to his. I also began answering his mumbled, confused questions of 'sniper?' with a low and heady tone. He began moving more than his previous slight shifting, trying to reach up and touch me with ungloved hand, but I didn't pull him far enough from his drugged sleep to do so. As I crawled out that night I mentally cackled with glee.

So far, he was fooled. It was working.

-------

The next night saw another increase in serum, up to seven drops, and a much heavier hand. I knelt close to the mattress, leaning over him, and when his eyes opened I met his lips in a slightly wetter chaste kiss. I then teased, trailing down his neck, along his jaw, and when he reached up to touch my face I let him. This was the moment, make or break, but he did not distinguish the fabric of my mask with the jagged cut of the RED sniper's hair. Breathing a genuine sigh of relief across his ear I praised the power of suggestion and the research done to make it law in the serum's victims.

Sure that he was fooled, at least, as sure as I would let myself be, I continued the light pecks across his face. He was confused, hesitant, but I had to let him think this 'dream' was truly his. Finally, he took the next step and pulled me down. His tongue was sluggish but he slowly gained confidence. Not the most thrilling kiss of my life, to be sure, but I supposed it wasn't bad for a man heavily drugged and in the process of light brainwashing. I let it continue until he broke away. The action was too much for his diminished state and his arms soon slid from my neck. With a few parting touches and low whispers of definite intent, I was gone.

Dull as it was, that night was enough to remind me of how long it had been since I was pressed against another hot body. I suppressed the surge of hormones on the journey back, but the moment I reached the relative safety of our base the floodgates broke.

I rushed to my room, silently thankful that this was an ungodly hour of the night even for this team, and all but slammed the door shut when I got there. I locked it by way of a chair under the handle, just in case Scout decided to check up on me post-mission, and then I fell against the wall. Feeling the rough wooden texture even through my shirt and suit jacket I wasted no time, fumbling with my pants one handed while I pulled the other glove off with my teeth. I was uncoordinated under the onslaught of raw, animalistic hormones, so it took far too long. Finally I was fumbling skin against skin, no time even for a faceless fantasy, coming with a strangled shout almost before it began.

I sank down the wall, uncaring of wrinkles I was putting in my suit, and lit off a cigarette. I sucked down a third of the thing in one breath, letting the hot smoke escape slowly as I tried to collect myself. The fact that I preferred roughness, rough hands and rough stubble, did not help the situation. Both Sniper and Engineer fell within my interests; perhaps I tried hating them more than the others in some unconscious move to distance myself from temptation.

Stubbing out the ashes I kicked off the mess of my suit and fell into bed wearing only my briefs, my mask, and the remaining glove.

I needed a vacation. Something more substantial than my hand. Maybe after this mission's success I could negotiate a day in the closest settlement to search for a lean body to pin against something. Or I could just suck it up like I had for the past five years.

I sighed, rolled over, and went to sleep. No use complaining about an occupational hazard. Not at my age, anyway.

-------

The sixth visit was routine despite the raging hormones spawned the night before. Luckily the slow and groggy nature of the medic's kisses kept me well grounded. Drugged or not, he seemed awfully submissive and lax. There was no way I'd be even slightly turned on by him if it hadn't been so damned long. I would have bet money the man liked all that mushy romantic nonsense. If he was an actual conquest the act could only leave me unfulfilled: no fight for top (which I'd take anyway), no bruises, probably only the mellow sort of desire that simply didn't have enough fire. I wondered if the RED sniper liked that sort of thing and entertained myself on the way out by thinking up schemes to get them together, despite the sniper's obvious homophobia.

-------

The next day brought bruises of a less pleasing nature. During the day's fight it became necessary for me to tackle their sniper to the ground; why he was in the thick of things instead of in some tower was beyond me. Unfortunately he was much stronger than I and the scope of his rifle left Scout's back only after I grabbed the crotch of his pants and licked the shell of his ear. If I wasn't so busy keeping his bowie knife out of my kidney I'd have laughed at the mix of outrage and disgust on his face, not to mention the stammered slurs. Poor medic. He didn't have a chance.

The struggle ended with a deep gash in my side and several broken ribs, and he limped away with my butterfly knife still embedded in his thigh. Scout actually found my weapon after an unnecessary run between the outcropping and the RED base, presenting it to me with a flourish while I was still in the creaking first aid station. I was starting to realize the extent of the soft spot I'd developed for him and the rest of the team. I had to be getting old if I was growing sentimental. At length I decided I didn't mind so much since this group was the best I'd ever had the displeasure of working with.

Even Sniper expressed concern, or at least as close as he got to it, over my intent to continue the plan that night. While the first aid station healed the worst of it my ribs and side were still heavily bruised; I'd be much easier to bring to the ground if I was caught. However, I couldn't afford to waste this perfect opportunity. Their sniper was injured. Even though the glow of a medigun flashed before he made it back to their base, the medic could still be convinced that his love needed healing in his dreams. There would never be a better opportunity to ask the man to open the safe.

There was only one option. I could see that Engineer knew that even though he argued at first. Once night fell I made my way across the wasteland.

I almost regretted my decision when I got inside. The turns in the ventilation shafts were uncomfortable to begin with; with my side and chest bruised almost to the point of hemorrhage it was excruciating. If I didn't have so much practice in withstanding torture I would have been far worse than sweating hard and breathing heavily by the time I reached my target. After a quarter of an hour spent gathering myself I lowered myself from the vent.

When my feet touched the desk there was a faint crunching and some less than faint clinks; I froze. When I could hear the medic's breathing, slow and even, above my own pounding heart, I looked down. Along with the usual tools scattered across the top there were several gears, bunches of wires, small cylindrical canisters, and one large red tank. His equipment must have taken some damage during the day's fight.

I swallowed hard, and remembered Scout's claim that using the first aid station temporarily affected his aim. I previously believed it to be an exaggeration of youth, but I had not yet forgotten to check the desk before lowing myself. If my mental state was compromised along with the physical...

I carefully and deliberately dismounted the desk and took stock of the room; nothing out of place except that the medic fell asleep with his boots and gloves still on. I worried about this anomaly even though it was easily explained by the extent of the injuries inflicted upon the REDs that day: exhausted from his work the medic fell into bed. I wondered if I was confused enough to miss some important detail. After a long and careful consideration, I decided that I really had to do something about this soft spot for the team. The sentimentality was going to get me killed.

I withdrew the vial and dosed the man with a round ten drops. I longed for a cigarette to calm my nerves. Instead I pinched my arm sharply, several times, to try and clear the fog. This had to be done correctly. The pain in my side felt greater than an irritated bruise; I would likely need another healing session once I returned to the base. The pain gave me focus, kept me constantly reminded of why this mission was so important.

I continued the program, beginning with a whisper and a touch. His eyes opened groggily and he reached for me. There were several minutes of fumbling and I couldn't quite hide the wince when his wandering hands found the injury in my side. I escalated, pressing my thigh between his legs, hoping it would distract him from any abnormality in my behavior. He seemed surprised by the contact, jerking slightly even as he moaned. I reached a hand between our bodies and stroked him through his trousers. He squirmed, the hand previously probing my injured side falling away. Encouraged, I whispered a few generic nothings in his ear as I pressed harder.

Suddenly there was an intense pain in my side, more intense than when a blade was buried in it. A hot, unpleasant flame radiated out and seemed to consume my entire body within seconds. There was a slight clatter and I looked to the side, gasping, recognizing the outline of a syringe on the floor. I tried to get away despite there being nowhere to run, discovering it was of little consequence as I couldn't seem to move. Gloved hands grasped my shoulders roughly and before I knew it I was on my back with a very large serrated blade pressed against my neck.

I'm embarrassed to say that I never saw it coming.