Cold vapors filled the Engineer's lungs. The strange, sterile gas stuck in his nose and chest. Alcohol, juniper, mint—it was a concoction of freezing smells. His sinuses tingled. He reached for his head, stroking his slick forehead with his mechanical hand. His sides were battered, his skin grimy, but he was alive.
He slid his back against the wall, his right hand finding a dispenser. That had been in the hall, not right next to him. It took the Engineer a couple of seconds to realize that he wasn't in the room where he had lost consciousness. He wasn't even in the same building. He jumped onto his feet, his heart pounding into his ribcage.
"Where in the hell am I?" the Engineer pondered.
A reassuring grunt came from his left, "Yrr errwrrke!"
The Engineer cranked his head up. There was the Pyro, guarding the back door to this building—one that Dell and the Sniper had already secured. Another jolt of stress went through him.
"Where's Mundy?" the Engineer asked.
The Pyro remained silent. The air, devoid of anything but the hissing of fired bullets and flames, fanned a growing dread within the Engineer. He clutched his overall straps, then looked down. The terrible evidence of his friend's sacrifice was on his pants. His right hip was stained with tacky, dark blood. His stomach dropped. His brain tangled in confusion. He wanted to know what happened, and at the same time, was ripped apart by what had to be the truth.
The Engineer's eyes sank beneath his goggles. "We lost him."
"Hrr trrd mrr tr svv fu," the Pyro confessed. "Rr wnnt brrk, brrt…"
"He wasn't there," the Engineer finished the Pyro's grunting.
Anguish flared in his core. His mind was black, clouded with horror. In a sick way, it would be simpler if the Sniper had just died. At least he would have no further pains to face. Where would he wake up? In Wyoming? In the captivity of that madman? The last thought stung the worst. He had lost his friend for over a year. If Gray would have had his way, then even longer.
Doubt dragged him to his knees. They were only nine men against forces of thousands of machines. What in the hell was he fighting for? Revenge? Money? Someone else's freedom? It sure as hell wasn't for land. It wasn't for his family's name. The only reason he was kneeling here now was because that surly, crooked-smiling Sniper had been so eager to return. They had both been free from this old life, and they couldn't have just kept their noses out of trouble. He could have taken that dull, monotonous hell of simple Midwestern life if he could have convinced his best friend to stay at his side. Without him there—without him here—it was all just rotting flotsam on the fetid waters of Styx.
In that moment of desperation, the Engineer hated the Sniper, if only for the swirling burn that he had inflamed in the Texan's mind and chest.
A breeze brushed past his forehead. The Engineer looked up, finding the Pyro standing over him. The gibbering firebug had pushed his helmet back. Plastic, metal, and soft cushions cradled his ears. Reaching up, the Engineer found that the Pyro had given up his headset. His friend pulled back, showing crushed metal in his hands. The Engineer nodded. So, his earpiece had been destroyed.
"Thank you kindly," the Engineer said. His voice was dragging on the ground, picking up more gravel.
The Pyro tapped on his gas mask's muzzle. "Sprrk. Drr ndd fu."
That was right. His team needed him. The Engineer swallowed his anger and pride, then flicked the headset on. He quieted his mind, listening to bullets rush about in the distance and the Soldier's maniacal laughter. That crazy American could never keep anything that came out of his mouth to himself, even over their channels. The Engineer took a deep breath. His brain went calm as he thought about his objectives. He still had several men to defend. More than one.
He had not lost everything yet.
"Fellas?" the Engineer asked. "What's going on?"
"Truckie! You went quiet for a little while," the Soldier replied.
The Medic's voice chipped in. "Oh, mein Gott! You are alive? Ha! I—I am surprised!"
Exhaling fire, the Engineer let his anger clear before he spoke. "The Sniper got me clear of the building, and the Pyro got me to one of the nests. I'm all patched up, but my earpiece's busted. Talkin' to you through the Pyro's headset. What's the situation?"
"I've got the communications tower ready to blow," the Demoman replied. "The doc 'n Heavy are gettin' the Scout extracted. We've lost contact with the Spy—think he might've takin' the low road."
Massaging his nose, the Engineer nodded. "No confirmation?"
The Demoman grunted. "Nay, lad. But, I can't plan around a ghost."
That was a sentiment that resonated a little too well with the Engineer. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Soldier beat him to the punch. "Before you ask—I am doing all of the hard work! These damn robots are hot on my tail. Managed to back over a few of them, though, so that's good."
"You're still in that tank?" the Engineer asked.
"Why would I get out of the damn tank?" the Soldier replied. "It's a tank. It's armor-plated, I don't have to stand up to kill things, it doesn't require ammunition—it's God's gift to mankind. Or, it's our gift to him, if you think about it."
A familiar headache settled in the Engineer's brain. The Soldier was out of control, as usual. The rest of the team was still trying to take care of a problem that should have been solved half an hour ago. The Engineer glanced at the Pyro, as if the solution for their troubles was on his face. All he got in return was a blank, glassy stare.
"We need to get balanced," the Engineer said, working on his next plan as he spoke. "Can you all pull out of the satellite tower so Tavish can do his job? Scout—are you still reading us?"
An unusually quiet voice whispered back to him. "Cram it! Dhose guys are gonna hear me!"
The Engineer didn't have time for the Scout's behavior problems. "Just get moving!"
"Mister Conagher," Miss Pauling's voice broke through the racket. "I'm looking at targets to hit next. It looks like you might have a clear shot to the main skyscraper on the island. Can you have Mister Mundy scope out a path?"
The Engineer took a deep breath, then collected himself. "Mun—the Sniper is unavailable. The Pyro said that he had recovered me from the last building I had taken, but he's…"
"MIA," Miss Pauling interrupted his confession.
He wanted to be infuriated with her. The letter M was too optimistic. Still, there was a reason she had said it like that. It was the same reason the Spy was unaccounted for. Admitting their loss would be demoralizing. If he was furious, then the Scout's mother would be off the hinge. The fog of war had a tricky tide, and events weren't always as they seemed. Missing men were just as useful as dead men. Speaking carefully was their only way to avoid total chaos.
"MIA," the Engineer agreed. "Tell ya what, Miss Paulin'. We're makin' enough of a ruckus. If we can keep it up, I think one or two of us could make it inside undetected. It's worth a shot, anyway."
"I guarantee, hell's gonna break loose once I pop this!" the Demoman exclaimed.
"If y'all want to come to the front again, I've still got a few bases up. Should help with supplies while I'm out 'n about," the Engineer suggested.
Miss Pauling jumped in on the call once more. "What are you—you're not going to—"
"Someone needs to get control of our respawn system. 'N that'll be me," the Engineer stated. His voice was firm, solid as stone. "I'm gonna take the Pyro with me. The two of us will flush Gray out 'n figure out what to do with him next. Can't be too hard to beat a password out of an old man." He gave the Pyro a smile, then asked, "That's assumin' you want to come with, right?"
The Pyro gave a thumbs up and an enthusiastic whoop.
"Fine," Miss Pauling replied. "Keep out of sight. Don't take any risks."
The Engineer had his own needs, but he stomached them for the time being. A river could be crossed one steppingstone at a time—even Styx.
A foul string of words came from the Scout's mouth as he realized that he fled into the room he had been trying to escape this entire time.
He knew he was running out of places to hide from those damn robots circling the top floor. He stamped his foot, cursing himself for not taking the stairwell. Diving under a destroyed computer terminal, the Scout tried to take stock of his options. There was no way he was going to take the Spy's exit. He scowled, flicking spent shells out of his shotgun. His pistol was empty, his bat splintering. He had four rounds to get downstairs and out of harm's way.
Splitting four shots for twelve robots felt a bit impossible. But, hey. Killing the right four could get him clear. He smiled, trying to keep optimistic. He looked out the smashed window. The grenade-shooting robots had calmed down, thanks to the Heavy, Demoman, and Medic storming the exterior.
"Have entered building," the Heavy reported. "Is busy. Scout? Come down now!"
The Scout shook his head. "Give me a sec."
"No time! Move now!" the Heavy ordered.
The Scout's spine straightened. Frayed neurons kicked in. He could sit here and wait until his teammates saved him, but his pride wouldn't let himself be so weak. He couldn't continue to be a risk to them. Couldn't fail them like he failed the Spy. He took a breath, then peered out the door, the stairwell inches within his reach. Not a problem. He could book it.
There was no door to slam into prowling, metal faces, so the Scout's shoulder was the next best thing. He bashed out of the room. A robot took a tumble as the Scout jumped for the stairwell. Within seconds, he was on the next floor. He would have rocketed all the way down and out of the building had it not been for the familiar burst of gunfire. He ducked down to find he wasn't the one being shot at. Confused, the Scout hopped into the third floor's hallway, trying to figure out what in the hell that robot was shooting at.
What he saw knocked his socks off.
A human viper was sinking his sharp, steel tooth into the chassis of his own replica. Dozens of the knife-wielding maniacs were surrounding the bloodied mercenary. The Scout could hardly believe his eyes. With so much technology and tools available to the combatants, the fight had broken down to the tame, jittering fighting of a community theater musical. He bolted into combat, reaching for his baseball bat. He felt more than equipped to handle these metallic morons.
The Scout screamed as he took the first Spy bot offline. "I thought you were dead!"
"It would not—" The Spy sucked in air, then jammed his knife straight through the metal jaw of one assailant. "—be zhe first time—" He ducked, then slashed again. "—zhat people have thought zhat!"
A life-and-death fight between men and machines was hardly the perfect time to have a reunion, but the two made do. The Scout continued shouting at the Spy, his anger driving his baseball bat straight through a robot's neck. "Could you at least tell me, next time you decide to 'possum it up? You scared dhe crap out of me!"
"I would have," the Spy huffed. He stabbed through one robot, then brought it face down. One more slash cut through its power supply. "Damned headset went with zhe fake body. Couldn't pick it up."
"A likely story!" the Scout growled, knocking aside another head.
Sucking in a quick breath, the Spy dodged another blow. "Could you tell your mozher zhat I am alright?"
It wasn't like the Scout had a lot of time on his hands. He kept one hand to his headset, broadcasting as quick as he could. "Yo, Ma! Spy's alive! Still a dick!"
"Well, thank Christ!" the Scout's mother cheered. "Now tell him to stop screwing around and get dhat tower taken down!"
The Scout relayed the message before going to town on another robot's knees. "Ma says you're a slacker because you didn't wreck the tower hard enough."
"Oh, she did not!" the Spy growled.
"Well, dhen what in the hell were you doing?" the Scout asked.
The Spy struggled to catch his breath beneath stabs. He grabbed one robot, then threw it in front of another robot's knife. Parrying the blow back, he got around to sharing his story. "I attempted to take zhe remaining electrical systems and devices offline in zhis building. Zhey seemed to have little to no effect. Zhere may be a basement below with additional computers. I haven't had zhe time to get down zhere because I was coming up here to get you!"
"You know what?" the Scout said. "I kinda appreciate it. Especially after I dropped you. Real not dickish of you to come help me, Spy."
Taking the last machine, the Spy drove his knife straight through its back. "You are welcome."
Both men paused to catch their breaths. The Spy had taken a few cuts across his chest, but he would live. The Scout reached for him, taking him by his ribcage. The least he could do was help him get to safety, after what had happened. Both men scurried downstairs as the Scout hailed his team. "I've got dhe Spy. We still gonna blow dhis place?"
"Da." The Heavy's voice boomed in the Scout's ear. "Come down. We leave together."
That was much easier to do, with both men watching each other's backs. The Spy reached for his revolver, picking off a target that was trailing them. The Scout spent his last four shells with a happy grin. There was nothing like watching a big, fat robot explode into chunks. Both men reached the floor, ankles and feet happy to be on terra firma. A white blaze checked them over. The Medic was grinning, his hair wild and teeth bright.
The Heavy led the march outside. He roared with laughter, machines melting in front of his barrel. All four rushed out of the building and towards the snarled thicket behind the communications tower. Leaves leapt behind them as they dove into the brush.
The Medic hailed the Demoman. "We are clear! Hit it!"
"My pleasure," the Demoman cheered.
A fearsome, solid heat burst from the top of the tower as eight sticky bombs took out the front side of the building. The massive satellite dish rolled face first into the tower. It tore free from its supports, ripping the roof as it fell. The Demoman cackled with delight as the entire tower fell like a flaming house of cards. The whole building disappeared in a cloud of soot and debris.
He was more than happy to report his success. "Tower's down!"
The Spy took in deep breaths. "Noisier zhan I hoped, but c'est la vie." He managed to offer a smile at the Scout. "At least, we should have an easier time infiltrating Monsieur Mann's skyscraper."
All present teammates grimaced.
The Spy cocked an eyebrow. "What? What is zhat look about?"
"Ah, err—" the Scout stammered. "See, we kinda thought you were dead, so dhe Engineer—"
"No," the Spy growled before the Scout could finish his sentence. "You…imbeciles!" He reared onto his ankles, trying to brace himself for running. He reached for the Scout's headset, then snatched it off. "Mademoiselle Pauling. Stop zhe Engineer!"
"Kinda late for that," the Engineer replied. "Glad you're up, though. Get everyone over here ASAP."
"I will," the Spy seethed.
The Pyro was as happy as a toddler with a sledgehammer in an antique store. One robot's head went sailing across a hallway. He cleaved another in two pieces. All along the path up the building, he swung to and fro, lost in his entertainment.
The Engineer wasn't so enthusiastic. He could only place down little boxes at a time, letting them blossom into machines on their own. He didn't have the time to upgrade them, given the Pyro's speed about his slaughtering. It was just enough to have a sentry on every cleared floor. Even construction felt clumsier than usual. He blamed his anxious brain. A robotic hand wouldn't have a case of the nerves.
"Pyro! Don't get too far ahead of me," the Engineer called for his friend.
Having no fear of the situation, the Pyro rushed up another flight of stairs. The Engineer sighed, then hustled after him. Even after restocking himself at the remaining tank, he felt uneasy and vulnerable to attack. He hustled upstairs, following a blur through a hall crowded with dead machines. It chilled him, like passing a hall full of charred zombies.
When the Engineer caught up with the Pyro, he was beating a door open. His sledgehammer made a terrible racket, echoing off steel bodies and floors. The Engineer shook his head. "You've got to keep it down. If he hears us comin'—"
The Engineer's sage advice was drowned out by a door shattering open. The Pyro pulled back on his weapon's handle, yanking chunks of the door away. He pulled back to strike once more when his head exploded. The Engineer balked. Two more blooms of blood burst from his chest. The Pyro reeled back, dead on his feet. With a thick squelch, he landed on the ground.
Struggling to recover from the sudden attack, the Engineer's mind reeled. There were dozens of actions to take, and he couldn't choose a single one. His first instinct was to save the Pyro, but that was impossible. The heat had gone out of his lungs. Instinct number two was to run. If he made it downstairs, he could fortify the lower floors. The only action he took was to raise his shotgun as the muzzle of a revolver snaked around a splintered door.
His trigger finger froze.
One burst in his left shoulder stopped him from wondering what had happened. Fire billowed through his ribs as he crashed against the wall. An Italian leather shoe stomped on his shotgun, denting the barrel. For an old man, Gray had a force about him. The Engineer's forehead went hot as a freshly fired revolver pressed against his forehead.
"What in—" the Engineer gasped.
Gray shook his head. His tone was condescending, pitying. "Who do you think that right hand of yours belongs to?"
Angry sirens flared in the Engineer's head. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He had been using Gray's technology all this time! He should have lopped this damn thing off when he had the chance. There must have been a failsafe in it. Perhaps messing with the communications tower had messed it up. Either way, he should have known better than to kill a man with his own creation. And now, not only could his traitorous right arm not move, but his left hand was as good as dead.
All he had on his side was his brain and his legs, and neither could out-perform a bullet.
"I think it's time we had a little talk," Gray taunted the Engineer. "It's been a year, after all. We have so much to discuss."
Author's Note
I originally had another version of this (and Chapter Twenty-One) where the Spy died. Then, I got into trouble trying to plan the rest of the story. After doing a rewrite where he lived, I felt much better.
Lived, lives, will live. At least, for today.