Author's Note: It's lucky thirteen, the chapter where everything finally goes to hell!
In other news, I just realised something awesome about the Gun Mettle cartoon. There was a passage in it that puzzled me: Saxton Hale's description of the mercs as 'Defectives. Drunks. Sex Criminals. War Criminals.' Now three of those I can easily see, but...sex criminals? Isn't that a little too dark and squicky for the TF2 lore? Also, we've seen no hint that any of the nine of them are rapists or paedophiles, so what's going on? Then I remembered: in the 1960s, being homosexual was a crime in most of the US. So, is this another hint of canon merc shipping? It's an interesting and lovely idea.
Anyway, have some story...
Saving Private Soldierbot
Chapter Thirteen: Broken Robots
The legs were getting easier to use. Legs and arms: it all came back. He remembered using them before the thin purple human had disabled him. What had Name Unknown called him? Spy. That was it. Spy Théo.
Eagle let himself out of the workshop and ambled through the empty base. He brought the radio with him, since the voices and music from it were oddly comforting. He didn't like it when it was too quiet. Silence made time pass slowly, just as it had when he had been in the metal box. Everything was better and brighter when Name Unknown was around.
He wandered along the corridors, metal feet creaking on the linoleum under his feet, trying to decide what exactly this place was for. Some rooms had familiar things in it, like computers and control desks, but others had chairs covered with soft, squishy material that looked structurally unsound and served no purpose. Those rooms had bright colours that fitted no designation that Eagle knew about, and what looked like faulty photographs on the walls. After studying one for a bit, he decided they must be what the radio called 'art'. The voice on the radio explained that they were enjoyable to look at, so Eagle sat down in one of the chairs and watched the picture for 10 minutes and 27 seconds, at which point the heat from his internal combustion engine made the chair smoke, so he stood up again. The chair then burst into flames but Eagle managed to put it out after carefully reading the instructions on a nearby fire extinguisher. He nodded to himself sagely. He had been right- those chairs were very badly designed. He examined the picture for a little bit longer, and decided that maybe it meant more if you had seen the rocky, orange- coloured place it showed. He shrugged, and left to find other rooms.
The next interesting room he found had a metal door that was locked, so Eagle peered in through the reinforced window, and saw stacks of boxes and various tubular metal items. Weapons. He remembered weapons- how could he forget? He leaned further forward, the blue light from his eyes illuminating the room coldly.
He remembered killing humans. It was patchy- flashes of detail passed before his eyes. Humans screaming, splashes of bright colours as they leaked. The odd noises they made as they died. He had been on many missions before that final one, but he couldn't remember how many, or where they had been. There were dusty landscapes, snowy ones and green ones, but it was all so vague now.
He placed a hand on the glass, looking at the dents and pockmarks in his jointed fingers. Supposedly, they were the regulation blue, but most of the paint had been scraped or burnt off. He was just a battered robot with a broken mind. His hand clenched into a fist, scraping against the glass. The window made little squeaking noises of protest as something caught his eye beyond it.
It just one of the many weapons, but it looked familiar. A long tube, with two handles, flared at one end. Something about it made Eagle want to hold it. It...belonged to him, didn't it? He needed it. He had to have it. His hand pressed harder on the glass and it shattered, held in place by the metal wires reinforcing it.
Oh...he had forgotten glass could smash. Maybe...doors did too? Hadn't he smashed down doors in that distant, fractured past? He tried punching it, but all that did was dent both the door and his fist. He tried ramming the door with his shoulder, but that just dented him even more before he staggered and fell on his back. His motor roared in protest for a moment before he righted himself. Hmm. Perhaps there was something useful back in his own room? Name Unknown had opened his metal cupboard with a tool, after all. The Mak...Gray Mann had used all sorts of tools to do things, clever things. He put one hand on the wall to support himself as he thought.
Beep. Click.
He jumped back with a rattle and realised he had rested his hand on a panel with numbers on it. Accidentally, he had pressed the one four times. Wait- he knew what this was. This was a security panel. It opened doors.
It opened doors!
Eagle started to cackle in delight as he grabbed the handle and pushed the battered but now unlocked door open- and there, right in front of him, was the thing he wanted so much: his weapon. He picked it up slowly and reverently before placing it on his shoulder. Yes, that felt so right! His finger squeezed the trigger, and, of course, nothing happened. There was...something else, wasn't there? He needed another thing to make it work. Rockets. That was it- it took rockets. Eagle put the tube down for a moment to sort through the various boxes on the floor until he found one that looked right. He picked it up and took a rocket out of it and put it into the launcher. He then marched out of the small room, aimed at a piece of blank wall, and pressed the trigger.
The next few seconds were confusing, involving a huge wall of sound, swirling black, red and orange and a final thump as Eagle's chassis hit the opposite wall. He sat there dazedly for a few moments, as the radio continued to chatter in the distance- some programme about the ancient Greeks, whatever they were.
So...what happened then?
The wall opposite him was now a mess of black soot and flame and as he looked down at himself, he realised he had added yet a few more scorch marks to his decrepit frame. Huh. Maybe this tube was better used outdoors? He would have to ask Name Unknown if they could explore outside for a while. Come to think of it...where was his friend? Shouldn't he be here by now?
Eagle got up, picking up his new weapon without even really thinking about it. Maybe Name Unknown is waiting for me back in the workshop?
He walked determinedly back down the corridor to his room, feet clanking over the chatter of the radio. He listened idly to see if there was anything Name Unknown might tell him more about. As he reached the workshop, the voice mentioned something that stopped him in his tracks with astonishment.
Oh...I need to tell him this! Right now!
In his excitement, Eagle ran into the workshop eagerly, only to find it just as empty as he had found it. His friend wasn't there...where had he got to? He was now two hours, twenty-three minutes and five seconds late! He padded out again, but there was no sign of him. Worry suddenly seized the robot, making his joints rattle and squeak.
Was he alright? Had something happened to him?
Before he could even think too much about that, though, he realised he had forgotten something very important: that fuel could run out. His petrol motor coughed and spluttered, running too fast for a moment as it gulped in air instead of petrol, and he had just enough time to shut himself down safely before it stopped, and he pitched forward and hit the ground with a clang.
"Hey Dude, welcome back. You ok?" A familiar voice asked.
...Rebooting after safe shutdown...
...Running Diagnostics...100%...
...Warning: 86.4% of AI programming lost...
...Power at 100%...
...WARNING: Failed to connect to network...Retrying...
...WARNING: Failed to connect to network...Retrying...
...WARNING: Failed to connect to network...Retrying...
...WARNING: Failed to connect to network...Retrying...
...ERROR: Connection failed after four retries...
...I should have guessed that would happen...
...Checking internal chronometer...
...Name Unknown has been gone 1 day, 21 hours, 2 minutes and 45 seconds!...
...What happened?...
"What happened?" Eagle asked.
"You ran outta gas, bro." Scoutbot explained as Eagle got back to his feet. He looked terrible- his normally smooth, well-polished chassis covered in dents and scratches, silver streaking through purple. He fidgeted from foot to foot rapidly. "Do you know how to mix two-stroke? I kinda guessed at the mix, but you've not seized up or smoked the place out, so I guess I got it right."
"I want to know what happened to you." He insisted, grabbing the smaller robot's arm. "You're late."
"Yeah, I am." Scoutbot said. He glanced behind himself briefly. "It's... like... everything's gone to shit. Pack your stuff... uh, if you have any. We gotta leave. Now."
"Leave?" Eagle said in bafflement. "Why? Where are we going?"
"Ah, jeez." Scoutbot slumped with a metallic sigh. To Eagle, he looked defeated and miserable. "I better tell ya what happened. Then we're outta here."
Eagle nodded, and Scoutbot started to tell him about the terrible day he'd had.
The previous day, Scoutbot had been doing the job he was given very often- that of messenger boy. The Institute did have a radio system, but it was often quicker to simply look for someone by listening for the explosions or arguments. Some might have thought delivering notes was dull, but Scoutbot actually enjoyed it. He loved flying and zipping amongst the half-built skeletons of new buildings, finding sneaky new routes and punking people by flying close enough to them to muss their hair. Also, he got to read all the crazy things the ex-mercs wrote to each other:
"Demo Tavish,
Strawberries are not available at this time of year. Didn't I tell you to stop wasting your time on this? Also, that 'automatic grenade building machine' of yours looks awfully like a still to me. Take it apart immediately.
Clara Pauling."
"Heavy Dimitri,
Can you convince Medic Uwe to stop sharpening my screwdrivers when he borrows them? Not all tools are supposed to be sharp! I've tried asking him myself, but he just won't listen to reason.
Engineer Connor."
"Spy Marcus,
You-know-who has seen that person at you-know-where. Can I suggest you do what you are best at, when the time is right. Make sure The Item is secured on your person first. Take Jemima Cordes out for a walk, why don't you?
Spy Gabriel."
"Demo Iain,
Can I borrow some Caesium from you? It burns with such a lovely green colour. I have a plan. It will be beautiful.
Pyro Fanxue."
"Engineer Dell,
I have decided that we need to have a barbecue tonight for the sake of morale. Attendance is mandatory. I expect you to bring your gas grill along.
P.S. Also, bring a full bottle of gas for it.
P.P.S. We need food, too.
P.P.P.S. You are cooking.
Soldier."
Scoutbot sighed in resignation at that last one. Great. Now I've gotta go face Dell. This is gonna be so awkward. Still...maybe...Dell would apologise. Because, obviously, Scoutbot wasn't going to. Not first. And Dell had acted like a dick, right? He, Scoutbot, had done nothing wrong. Nothing worth speaking of. Nothing important.
Anyway, he was no coward. He could face Engie. No problem. He dived towards the Institute's main building. Cool! There was an open window. That made things easy. Yeah, he'd been told never to enter through windows ever again, but what the hell. He dived through, sending papers fluttering around the office room like excited puppies and exited quickly into the corridor to the sound of French swearing.
"Sorry Spook, gotta message!" He said, leaving before Spy could try and sap him.
He quickly made his way to Dell's workshop, pushing the door open cautiously before telling himself off for being a pussy. He stopped, squared his shoulders, and shoved the door open boldly.
"Hey, Hardhat." He said casually, putting the note down on the table. "Got a message for you. From Soldier."
"Well hello there, Scoutbot." Dell said, looking up and tucking a pencil behind his ear. He had his goggles on, so Scoutbot had no idea what his expression was. He seemed calm enough- just a little cold, maybe? He stood up and approached the robot, idly picking up the note and reading it with a snort.
"Well, darn." He said. "A good old grill is a mighty fine idea, but I sure don't like his tone. Mind you, I wouldn't trust his cooking...tell you what, I'll agree and then slap him with a charge for the meat. That'd work."
"Yeah? I guess... means you don't look like a doormat, but you get to party."
"That's the plan." Dell said distractedly. He crossed his arms and looked up at the robot. "So, Scoutbot, are you ready to return the things you stole yet?"
"Uh..." Scoutbot paused, fidgeting and not sure what to say. He expected anger and knew how to cope with that, but this politeness...how the hell did he answer? "Still need them."
"And are you gonna tell me what you're usin' them for?" He folded the note carefully in half, then into quarters, and then eighths.
"...No?" Scoutbot replied slowly.
"Last chance, son."
"Still no." Scoutbot said firmly.
"Well, that's a shame, son. A real shame." Dell said quietly, and he did actually sound sad. Not angry at all, and Scoutbot suddenly felt a thrill of fear. "You don't know how sorry this makes me."
"Huh? Sorry? For what?" Scoutbot took a pace backwards without even realising. He heard the whirr of a motor, and then the door slammed and locked behind him and he whirled around to face it. "Dude! What're you doing? What the hell is this shit?"
"It's ok, Scoutbot. I forgive you. Don't you worry now. I'll sort everythin' out." A hand was placed on his shoulder, and something grabbed his neck. A tiny sliver of metal deftly poked into his neck joint, there was a firm click, and everything faded to blackness.
In Chapter Fourteen: Scoutbot faces a fate worse than death, and Medic Albrecht puts suture silk and needles to an unusual use...