A huge, black shadow leapt out of the brambles. It landed on the Heavy, toppling the obese man like he was nothing more than a stack of pillows. Miss Pauling jumped backwards. She raised her pistol, her sight jittery as she tried to find a clear shot. It was like watching two bears attempt to strangle each other. She fired two shots, the rounds just skirting across thick, matted fur. The third pull was empty.
Crap.
"Get to—" The Heavy began, but the beast tore at him. He bellowed with a roar deeper than any antagonized bull. He was bleeding from his side, the injury spilling blood into mud and water. With a sharp crack, he struck the creature across the face. That was when Miss Pauling saw bright teeth flash in the moonlight, sharp and lupine. Her skin crawled.
The Heavy barked at her once more. "Barn! Now!"
While Miss Pauling was obligated to follow her employer's orders, she did not have to listen to the burly man's commands. Maybe that would have been wiser, considering the bulk of that beast attacking the Heavy. It wouldn't be fair to abandon him to it. Miss Pauling retrieved the meat cleaver, waiting for the right moment to attack. The beast was driving the Heavy to the ground, gnashing teeth into flesh. He howled again, then snapped the creature into the wall. It gave a sharp whine, leaping back onto the Russian, its spine left bare and gashed.
Miss Pauling took a sharp slice across the beast's back. Coarse, black hair and red flesh tore from the monster, following the crisp line. The creature turned towards her, its face full of hunger and terror. Its breath was like hot steam in the cool night air, billowing like smoke. Its teeth and tongue were bright red, freshly slathered with the Heavy's blood. Her heart thudded in her chest. The beast sensed her hesitation. With one keen slash, it knocked her to the ground, spilling her cleaver out of reach. It jumped upon her, jaws reaching for her throat.
"Raaaaargh!" The Heavy threw his entire mass into the beast. He tackled it, landing with a splash of thick mud to the left of Miss Pauling. He punched it again and again, swearing in foul Russian terms. She did not understand much of it, but she could pick up bits and pieces of it. The words she recognized were "child", "dead", and "wolf." Considering the hollering and ferocity of the Heavy's attacks, perhaps it was best that she did not know what other words he was speaking.
Miss Pauling finally took the Heavy's advice. She crawled back to the barn, her wounds hot. The scratch wasn't deep, not until the end of the injury. There, the monster had dug its claws into her left shoulder. She stumbled around the barn, trying to find anything to hold the bleeding back. The din outside grew louder, thunder and howling punctuating every flash of lightning. She felt like a coward for leaving the Russian out there.
It was with luck that she found fresh cloth towards the back of the barn, in what was once a stall for cattle. It was lying across some kind of machinery. There were no oil spots on it, so it would work as well as any bandage. She cut a chunk off of it, wrapping it around her chest and shoulder. Not fashionable, and certainly not as good as the Medic would have done, but it was slowing the bleeding. She grabbed the rest of the cloth away from the machinery, knowing the Heavy would need it, too.
That was when Miss Pauling came face to face with Radigan Conagher's fourth sentry prototype.
The robot must have been in standby. Now, with a new creature poking around in its barn, it was quite active. To give it credit, the machine was a polite piece of work. It gave her a fair warning. "You are unauthorized to be in these premises. You have twenty seconds to vacate the area."
"What?" Maybe it was the shock of blood loss setting in, but she was surprised to find it talked. It had no mouth to speak of. It was like the Engineer's third-level sentry, adorned with two rotating turrets and a missile launcher on the top of its crown. The striking difference between the sentry and this machine was the domed central piece, speckled with small lights and welded chips beneath the glossy top. The robot lurched upward, supported by two thick, three-toed feet and massive legs. It moved with an awkward gait, pushing towards Miss Pauling.
Its barrels began to hum. "You have fifteen seconds to comply."
Miss Pauling ran.
As she skidded outside in the mud, she heard the robot clop forward. Oh, good. It was following her. She stumbled towards the Heavy, pulling him away from his struggle. He'd done a great number on the werewolf. It was barely moving, lying on its side and panting with shuddering ribs. The Heavy was in no better shape, crouched in the muck and keeping a hand pressed against his side.
"We have got to run!" Miss Pauling yanked the Heavy's right arm, but he was not moving. He looked up at her, then at the clanking monstrosity approaching them. There was fear in his eyes, to be sure, but there was something else. Resolve.
The robot's pleasant tone echoed, even in the cacophony of the storm. "You have five seconds to comply."
The Heavy reached for Sasha, pushing Miss Pauling aside. He lifted the unwieldy instrument, now singing with the same grace as before. Was he nuts? He had to be running low on ammunition. He growled at her, giving her one last command. "House! Now!"
She was halfway back to the manor before both machine and man opened fire.
To many, the Pyro was passionate about only one thing—fire. Perhaps that was his own fault that his teammates didn't know him any better. He took showers when no one else did, ate at weird times. Spent little to no interaction with his comrades in any fashion that would expose who or what he was. Sure, he watched television, played games, and killed enemies with them, but that didn't say much about the Pyro as a person. Still, the Pyro was human, deep beneath the flame-retardant suit, skin, flesh, and bone.
Sure, dying was awful. But so was coming back to life.
It was bad enough that some greedy spider still had its mandibles lodged in his stomach. The Scout's screams were worse. The little fellow managed to bash the matter out of one of the spider's heads, painting the attic walls in greasy blood. That left four dedicated to ending his life, not counting the one draining the Pyro. They were doing a fair job of it, too. The boy had been corralled into one corner, twisting himself in the thick webbing that clotted the attic. A few had splattered him with fresh, hot silk, welding him into the corner. It was only a matter of seconds until they would have another warm meal.
The Pyro wasn't about to let them dine. "Gef awfwaif fuh fem, muddahuddas!"
He started with the arachnid munching on him. The Pyro wrenched his left boot free from the silk wrapping his body, lifting it level to the spider's face. He kicked twice against its side, ripping the spider loose from him. When he'd earned just enough space, he pulled his axe from where it was wedged in the wall. He gave one vertical swing, cleaving the head of his tormentor. A mix of his foe's blood and his own ran into the ground, dripping through the floorboards.
That got the cluster's attention. Three of them spun towards him, the fourth's fangs now embedded in the Scout's skin. The boy was pale, his cursing becoming less brash as the life was sucked out of him. That bastard became target number one. He hacked his way through the cluster, downing one with a horizontal strike that ripped it in twain. The feasting spider never even gave him so much as a look as the Pyro hacked into it. His first strike severed the spider's backside, fresh ooze gushing every which way. The Pyro chopped once more, splitting the bastard down the middle. That was more satisfying than it should have been.
Grabbing the dead spider's mandibles, he yanked the offending front half out of the Scout. He was gray, still. The Pyro snarled. He had little time to mourn as the last two spiders struck at him. One was on his back, trying to pin him down. The other nipped at his heels. Both bit through the suit, mandibles lodging in his skin. A familiar numbness spread through him as warmth drained out. He gave one last swing at the monster chomping at his leg, decapitating that with a sharp cleave. The other one pulled him down, now firmly lodged in his back.
Just because the Pyro had died once already didn't mean he wanted to die again.
"Get offa him, ya freakin' bug!"
There was a squeal and a thud as the freshly revived Scout kicked the spider aside. He didn't have as much strength as the Pyro, but he was fast wriggling free of the silk sprayed around him. The Bostonian gave the Pyro a sharp command. "Kill that thing, would ya?"
No need to tell the Pyro twice. He grabbed his axe, the tool heavy as fatigue overtook his arms. He still had one last swing left in him, though. The Pyro turned to the last spider, the creature flailing every leg as it tried to get off its back. Beneath the Pyro's gas mask, there was a crooked smile. He raised his axe one more time and let it fall.
The splash of blood and silk signaled his victory.
"Oh, oh man. Freakin' gross." The Scout struggled once more, throwing himself out of the webbing. The Pyro caught him, bringing the wobbling teenager back onto his feet. The Scout gave him a wide grin. "Man, good job! Don't see why ya need that flamethrower around. You're a goddamn lumberjack!"
The Pyro gave him a tired thumbs-up. "Rad ou fing zo."
The Scout patted the Pyro on the back. "Take ten, huh? I'm gonna go find dhat fricken' key card. Dhe Administrator said it'd be around here somewhere, right? Wonder if she put it up here before dhe freakin' spiders were here or not. Dhey probably ran away from her. Am I right?"
The Pyro nodded, glad to be given a break. Those bites stung something awful. He examined the wound to his stomach. The bites were red, swollen. He'd probably have to have the Medic take a look at them. He hated going to the Medic, mostly because it violated his never nude in company policy.
The Pyro lay against the wooden walls, watching the Scout tear through the remains of the spiders' nest. He cussed every few seconds, finding something new and disgusting to complain about. "Oh, God. Don't tell me dhat's spider crap. Ah, Christ! Are dhose eggs? Aggh! I think dhat one's moving!" The boy then went into a swatting fit with his baseball bat. The Pyro found himself laughing, which drew a dark glare from the Bostonian.
"It's not funny, ya jerk. I'm gonna have nightmares for life." He continued digging through the mess. "Swear to God, if I see another bug in my life, I'm gonna—Hey!"
The Scout knelt in a clot of spider silk. With a little fishing and his tongue stuck out the side of his face, he found the object that drew his interest. He gave a quick tug, pulling strands off it and blowing debris away. It was a key card. The Pyro gave him a brief round of clapping, then stood up. No reason to be sitting up here anymore.
The Scout smiled. "So, whaddya say, Mumbles? Wanna go find those odher losers?"
"Well, now. Can't say I've ever seen something like that."
The Engineer tapped on the statue, not sure what to think of it. It looked like Australium, but it was the wrong consistency. The metal felt fleshy, pliable. Then there was the question of why somebody would make an Australium statue in the first place. It was a costly metal. A brick of the stuff could buy enough ICBMs to start a second Cuban Missile Crisis. That wasn't the part that confused the Engineer the most. He couldn't think of a logical reason for it to look like the Medic.
The Soldier scowled. "So? What is it?"
The Engineer shook his head. "I just don't know."
"Really, laborer. I zhought you had an explanation for everyzhing."
Both the Engineer and the Soldier looked up. The Spy sauntered out of the hallway behind them, the orange glow of a lit cigarette giving him away in the dark corridor. He looked rather smug, even for himself. The Frenchman tapped the statue on the nose. He scoffed at it, giving a quick snort. "How tacky."
"Glad to see another man join our ranks. What's the situation, Frenchie?" The Soldier crossed his arms, studying their new charge with a keen eye. "And what's with all that blood on your suit collar?"
The Spy glared back, rubbing at an invisible wound on his neck. "Zhat's none of your concern. However, I did manage to procure one of zhese." His hand left his sensitive spot, reaching into his pockets. A grin sparked on the Soldier's face as the Spy produced his hard-earned key card. The brash American snatched it from his fingers, studying it with intense glee and a boisterous laugh.
"Good work, Javert! Real slick." The Soldier gave him two pats on the shoulder, then passed the card back.
The Spy shook his head. He turned his attention to the Engineer. "What resources do we have?"
"So far? 'Fraid not much. I've got a pistol, and the Soldier's got a frying pan. Also found some blueprints." The Engineer fetched the instructions from his back pocket. He unrolled them, sharing their contents with the Spy. "Hopin' you have your sappers."
The Spy huffed the last of his cigarette, pinching the end off. "I'm afraid not at zhe moment. Tell me—have you or zhe Soldier gone back to our suites? It's possible zhe Administrator left supplies zhere."
The Soldier's eyes lit up. "That's brilliant! We fortify the areas with our rations, then begin sweeping the manor. I like the way you're thinking tonight, frog!" He grabbed the notepad with his crudely drawn map, adding the hallway, the staircase, and the lobby downstairs to his map. "Let's see. Assuming the suites are somewhere around here, we'll need to drag roughly three couches and a pool table to block off the hallway. Good!"
"Well, dhat's assumin' dhat dhere ain't no creepy crawlies dhat can get on dhe ceiling."
All three men glanced over to find the Scout and the Pyro had joined their ranks. Both of them had inflamed wounds. They looked like mosquito bites. More shockingly, the Pyro's suit had been damaged. It looked like the first time his skin had seen the light of day in years.
"String bean! Glad to see you and Ol' Smokey are doin' all right." The Engineer gave them both a warm smile. "Looks like you're a little rough for wear, though."
"Damn straight. But look what we got!" The Scout pulled their collected key card out of his pocket, beaming with pride.
The Spy laughed, wagging his card at the boy. "Oh, junior. One step too slow, as usual!" The Scout blew a raspberry at him, drawing more cackling and snorting from the Frenchman.
"This is fantastic!" The Soldier paced around his troops, nearly foaming with glee. "Two cards? Half of our entire troop? We've barely just begun, too! We'll be out of here before the bars close! Keep this up, men, and I will personally buy each and everyone one of you a round of nachos and tequila! There is nothing that's going to stop—"
The Soldier's speech died as soon as the front doors swung open.
Bright lightning spilled into the lobby, flashing across the floors in a white blast. Sharp thunder rolled afterwards. A woman crept into the house, trembling from the rain and blood loss. She slipped on the wet floors, clutching to the front door as her knees buckled. She fought to keep her cool composure, but it was clear that she was fraying. The team rushed to her as she collapsed onto her hands, the rain continuing to spill over them all.
The Spy propped the woman up as the Engineer examined her bandaged wound. "Miss Pauling, darlin', what happened?"
Miss Pauling grabbed the Texan's shoulder, a fresh fire throwing her back into motion. "No time. We need to run."
The Soldier raised his frying pan. "I got this."
"Are you insane? We have got to keep moving!" Miss Pauling tried to snap the Midwesterner out of his crazed bravado. "If it wasn't for the Heavy, I'd—"
The Scout raised his eyebrows. "You found the butterball? All right!"
Miss Pauling drew herself upright, finding what little composure she had remaining. "He bought me enough time to get to the house. That machine is still following me!"
Both the Engineer and the Spy dropped their jaws. "Miss Paulin', don't tell me that ya found—"
Boom!
The rocket that tore through the front door answered the Engineer's question. It landed at the top of the stairwell, shredding most of the structure and missing the odd Medic statue by a few meters. The stairwell was burning slightly, to the Pyro's interest and the rest of the team's dismay. They all caught a glimpse of that machine, gunmetal gray and shining with thick rain. The Heavy had left his mark upon it, the machine splattered with bullet holes and fleshy tissue.
If there was one thing the Spy knew, it was when to retreat. The Scout and the Pyro were quick on his heels, the Bostonian making a high-pitched shriek as he went. The Engineer balked, frozen with terror and awe. It was a perfect replica of the blueprint. The Soldier was silent as well, but his face was decorated with a wide grin. Just the challenge he was looking for. Miss Pauling pulled on both of their arms, trying to get either one of them to run. She didn't want to find out if the respawn generator would take care of her, but she didn't need to leave another man to his death tonight.
"Come on!" Miss Pauling tried again, wincing as another barrage of rockets soared overhead.
The Soldier snapped his head towards the Engineer. "Escort the lady, would you? I've got a war to fight." He lowered the brim of his helmet, then beat on his chest. With a loud battle cry, he rushed into the courtyard, his frying pan raised high and proud. It would have been impressive if it wasn't downright crazy.
As the robot opened fire, the Engineer came out of his shock. He grabbed Miss Pauling, hauling her away by the wrist. That contraption was fast approaching the house, the vivacious cries of the Soldier disappearing abruptly into the storm. He wound around a corner, a thousand panicked questions flooding his brain. Did that thing have heat sensors? How did it see the world? Could they even hide? What was it made out of? Could sappers take that robot out?
What was that thing on the ground?
Wham! The Engineer stumbled, flinging both Miss Pauling and him into a room. He grumbled, his chin scuffed from colliding with the floor. What the hell was that? Must have been thicker than an anaconda. He sat up, wiping blood away from his stubble. Then his eyes widened, a quiet gasp escaping his throat. Miss Pauling was just as stunned, sitting in quiet horror.
The duo had fallen into a red jungle.
Author's Note
I should write the Heavy more. He's somebody I can sorta get. At least, I understand the need to personify inanimate objects. I also sing at inappropriate times and am slightly overweight. So, there's that too.
And the first time I wrote Pyro as a dominant character roll! Huzzah. Although, I'm afraid my Miss Pauling came off a little weak. I'll have to fix that next round.
Why yes, I do like Arrested Development. And Robocop. Why do you ask, audience?
You should find the next chapter amusing. Let me know how you're feeling.