Miss Pauling had only been to Australia a couple of times and always for the sake of work. Both times, something awful had happened, whether they were apprehended by Saxton Hale or targeted by Australium-hunters. Though she was loathe to admit it, a tiny lady like her didn't stand much chance against the giant Australians, despite her generous knowledge of guns and self-defence. Last time she had tried to shoot one of them, the bullet had just bounced straight off the guy's pectoral and embedded itself into the nearest wall.
This mission, for once, was nothing to do with Australium. Miss Pauling wasn't sure she liked this mission, but who was she to go against her direct superior, the Administrator? That lady was as intelligent as she was ruthless. So intelligent, in fact, that there was probably no room for any kind of emotion in that cunning mind of hers. Her small, black eyes were always set on her goal. This time? It was to pin down one she considered a traitor and ensure that he wasn't about to go spilling her secrets.
It was kind of a shame, Miss Pauling thought. She'd gotten to know the mercenaries pretty well over the last five or six years. She'd seen Sniper die, once, just after being abandoned a second time by his birth parents, and it was one of the few times she'd actually felt guilt because of something that had happened under her watch. At least that had been a fairly quick death. She hadn't entirely enjoyed changing his default in the respawn system, either, but a job was a job, and at the end of the day, the guy was expendable because he knew far too much.
As she drove her purple moped down an Australian motorway, she glanced behind her to make sure the armoured vehicle containing several large and dangerous men was still following her. As much as she liked to think she could deal with a Sniper and Scout on her own, the Administrator had insisted otherwise and paired her up with a bunch of guys who looked more like pirates than anything.
Her communicator began to buzz. It was a new piece of tech sent to them by Mann Co. It was kind of like a phone, only it had a screen so that she could see the face of whoever was calling her. In colour. The thing was, the Administrator was the only person who called her, and with this stupid thing, Pauling couldn't exactly lie about how far along she was with a job when the woman on the other side of the screen could see everything.
"Ma'am?" she shouted quickly upon answering, holding up the device and beginning the difficult task of navigating the busy road with one hand. "We're fresh out of Adelaide airport and a few miles away from the suburbs. You're sure they've gone back to his house?"
"Of course I'm sure!" the Administrator barked, a lock of dark, grey hair falling into her withered face for a moment. Well, at least it wouldn't be difficult to hear her over the hundreds of hover-cars surrounding Pauling on all sides. "The idiot's house has appeared on the property market, and I've got several informants throughout Europe and Asia. There's nowhere else they can be."
"What do you want done with them, ma'am?"
"Oh, if the barbaric Australian hadn't dragged our only Scout along with him, I would simply have left him to die miserably at the hands of his rotting organs, but as it is, he could be telling the boy anything even as we speak. Kill him, but bring the boy back. Interrogate him and see what he knows. He could still be fit for service."
Pauling squeaked as she narrowly avoided getting squashed between two jet-propelled coaches. As it turned out, there was no kind of order on these roads and whoever was fastest gained right of way. Compared to the high tech monstrosities threatening to knock her clean over at every moment, she may as well have been riding a hair-dryer. Worse, the twilit sky was swiftly clouding over and rain was sweeping beneath them, and all Pauling was wearing was a thin, purple shirt and skirt.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I have to hang up!" she called, and she brought the phone right up close to her face so that she could wipe her glasses dry with her hand. The Administrator's sound of affront did not go unnoticed.
"Don't do that again! You know how much I hate seeing youthful complexions up close -"
"I know! I'm just -" The young woman slowed down just in time to allow a hovering tractor overtake her. "I'm just trying not to get killed! I'll call you later!"
With that, she hung up. Oh, was she ever going to get flack for that, later, but the young assistant forced herself not to think about that. She'd make it up, like she always did. Giving up her one day off a year would likely settle matters, but a tiny, non-efficient part of her mind rejected that idea. She worked day in, day out, all without complaint! And she'd actually managed to make some friends lately. It was probably a shame, then, that she was pursuing two of them with the objective of murdering one and torturing information out of the other. It was the first time she had wanted to object to a mission, but nobody argued with the Administrator and lived. Besides, in the grand scheme of things, Miss Pauling was largely more important than eighteen bumbling mercenaries who were easily replaced. Those guys needed holidays. Who still needed vacation time in the seventies?
By the time they arrived at the ranch, it was approaching midnight. Miss Pauling and her guys left their vehicles some distance away so that they weren't heard approaching. With a thoughtful hum, the woman took up the pair of binoculars around her neck and inspected the house ahead. The downstairs lights were on, which meant life was present, she just had to be sure it was the right people. Everything appeared near enough the same as the last time she was here, she noted somewhat forlornly, with the exception of an old, blue car that was parked higgledy-piggledy by the porch. Last time she had been here, it was to find the RED Sniper and bring him back to the team. And now? It was to erase him from it.
Through the window, she very briefly spotted Scout.
She turned to face the four guys she had brought with her. They were all behemoths that had shaved heads and eyepatches and spiked, leather jackets. Pauling had no idea where the Administrator had found them, though it was possible they had once been contenders for a mercenary role. It seemed more likely that she had found them in some downtown city bar and enticed them with a fat pay-check.
"Okay, I'll keep it simple," Miss Pauling began, kneeling down to produce gun parts from her handbag. She then began expertly assembling a lethal looking shotgun. "Kill the tall guy, keep the little guy alive. Don't get it the wrong way round, or the Administrator will have us all killed. Just, uh, stay by me, I guess."
The men grunted and loaded their guns.
Scout paced.
And paced. And paced.
It hadn't long hit him just what was happening, and though it had hit him hard, he managed to keep it hidden, or so he thought. He tried to call Engineer again several times, then Medic, then everybody else on the team, but every time, he only got the same response as before – that all of the numbers were unavailable. Maybe there was some technical mess up down the line, but it sure as hell hadn't come at a good time.
It looked like the news had only just hit Sniper, too. He was sat on the sofa with his elbows on his knees and head slightly bowed, toying with his fingers one by one.
The house was near enough empty, now. It had long since been cleared out of almost everything, save for the sofa, TV, the fridge, and washing machine. The walls and floor were clean, bare, and everything just looked so horribly empty that Scout wasn't sure how Sniper could stand it, but he supposed there were more prominent concerns on his mind. Scout had only just really noticed just how bare it all was, despite being in the damn place since the day before. He'd just been so hyped up by everything that was behind them and everything that was ahead of them and the fact Sniper was finally worn down enough that he'd agreed to teach him how to drive. Frustrated by his surroundings and how he was feeling, he approached a wall and flopped his forehead against it with a groan.
"We should get some sleep. C'mon," Sniper muttered, breaking the silence. He turned down the TV a little and stood to begin arranging Scout's blankets on the sofa, though he was forced to stop when the boy's hand suddenly clamped down on his forearm.
"Seriously, man. Just freakin' don't."
Sniper's jaw tensed. "Don't what?" he responded in a gravelly tone, pulling his arm away to finish tidying the makeshift bed.
"Don't be so goddamn nice, man!" After a small struggle, Scout removed the blanket from his friend's hands and found himself purposefully slinging it all over the place. "Ya think I ever made my bed at home? I like sleepin' in a good mess! I never even let Ma tidy up after me. What makes ya think I'm gonna let you?" In an obnoxious gesture, he wiped his nose on the back of his arm and then began kicking over the single sleeping bag lying nearby. "Look, you sleep on the couch, aight?. Only 'cause I'm worried about how freakin' dumb you are. You should be in a hospital, not kickin' back on some ranch tryin' to look after me. Well, newsflash, guy: I don't need no lookin' after! I can go back to Boston on my own!"
That seemed a hit a nerve, however briefly, as Sniper quickly turned to look at him.
"You're all gob, mate."
"Yeah? Try me, man! I'm gonna drive ya to hospital first thing tomorrow and then I'm climbin' on the first plane home!"
He wasn't telling the truth. He was doing the only thing he really knew to do in situations that he wasn't sure how to handle. Scout was losing his temper and losing it quickly, and if lying meant he might find some reassurance in his storm of uncertainty, then so be it. His Ma used to do it whenever her boyfriends were being dicks and going off to woo other girls, because it was the last resort and if it meant having that one person's hand to hold a little while longer then surely that was worth anything, right? He didn't exactly get the fawning and comfort he was looking for, however, because he had forgotten, in his upset, that Sniper very rarely had time for bullshit.
"You're gonna turn this into an argument, are ya?" the assassin barked suddenly, taking a step backwards as if he knew he'd do some serious harm otherwise. "Well, all right. Maybe I was thick to expect you to have learned something from what happened in California -"
"What the hell has that gotta do wi'this?!"
"Right now? The fact you gotta take somethin' and make out like it's my fault, just like when -"
"It is your fault!" Scout shouted, and he was somewhat dismayed to feel the metaphorical tap behind his mouth quickly unloosening as his anger worsened. "You pissed off the Administrator! You usually always kept to yaself, man – ya couldn't have done it for that one thing, too? Why'd you have to bug her about leavin'? Well, now you're gonna die and if you're gonna leave me on my own then I'll do the same right back to ya! Yeah, so long, pal!"
"Ya've got no idea what happened back there," Sniper snarled. "All the more, the only reason you're upset is 'cause there's no one else who's got the patience to put up with all your shite, just like now -"
Scout darted forwards and swung his arm like he was pitching a ball, the assassin's words having stung far too much, but Sniper reacted like he knew exactly what was coming and caught the younger man's arm. All the air was forced out of the boy's lungs as he was expertly counter-attacked and forced down onto his back. Before he could even react, he was being rolled onto his front and a pair of iron hands were holding his wrists fast to his spine. Scout snarled and spat and tried to wriggle his way out of the hold, but when Sniper seated himself on top of his assailant, there was little chance of escape.
"Let's talk about this like two adult blokes before one of us ends up dismembered – and that ain't gonna be me."
"Fuck you, man!" Scout retorted violently, though his voice was substantially weaker than before. Since when did emotions take such a toll on the body? All of a sudden, he felt like he had no energy at all, and it wasn't because he was tired. It was because he was utterly miserable and there wasn't anything in the world that was going to make him feel better, because at the end of the day, Sniper was right. The boy hadn't really acknowledged it until learning of what he was going to lose, but he was genuinely scared of the massive void that was going to be left when his friend was gone. "You shoulda told me this was gonna happen before I left RED! I quit 'cause I thought … Well, I dunno! But you shoulda said, dude!"
"I didn't know, then! Not for certain." There was a small pause, then Sniper continued, his rough tone softening a little. "All right. I should've said, but I didn't just bring you out here for my sake. I told you, mate. I wanted to get you out of RED altogether."
Scout resumed struggling, but Sniper was surprisingly heavy and he could barely move.
"I didn't get a say in that! Sure, I said I wanted to come with ya, but I didn't realise you were stealin' me away 'cause of what happened to ya parents!"
The hands around his wrists tightened.
"It ain't about that. Not entirely. I can't ..." Another pause. "I just need ya to trust me on this one. C'mon, lad. You know I'm one of the good guys. Are you gonna calm down?"
Scout sniffed and groaned but then stilled, only because he really didn't have the energy to go on arguing, no matter how much he wanted to. Worse, he could hear the weariness in his friend's voice and he didn't know if it was because he was annoyed or if it was whatever was ailing his insides. Whatever the case, the kid could at least acknowledge by this point that losing his temper and throwing blame around wasn't going to change anything, no matter how much it pained him to admit it to himself.
When the weight on his back shifted, Scout didn't get up. He just remained prone on his front and folded his arms beneath his face. He heard a quiet sigh, and then footsteps. A small while later, there came a slight thunk, and when Scout turned his head a little, he saw a mug of steaming hot chocolate had been placed by his head on the floor.
He wasn't sure why, but that made him feel worse than anything that had happened that day.
His now stuffy nose caused a headache to form behind his eyes when he reluctantly sat up. Sniper was again sat on the couch with his large hands clasped between his knees. He looked way too serious, so Scout just kept his head lowered and pulled the hot mug towards him.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"No worries." During the short silence that followed, Sniper scratched noisily at the stubble on his jaw. "I'm, well … Yeah, you're right, mate. I haven't gone about this in the best way. I'm not really used to considerin' someone else like I've gotta consider you. I failed me parents in that regard. Does that make any sense?"
"Nah, but … yeah. I'm just … man, I dunno."
The conclusion to the argument was hardly a satisfying one. Scout didn't have the answers he needed, but he wasn't entirely sure about the questions, either. When a decent portion of his brain was simply intent on blocking out the inevitable, not a lot was making a whole lot of sense because all he wanted to focus on was the present, not the future, and certainly not the secrets it was evident his friend was trying dearly to hide. All he really wanted was for things to go back to how they were: carefree days in the sun, sharing beers and pizza and laughing at dumb things with the rest of the guys. Though he had wanted to go exploring the world, perhaps he resented Sniper just a little bit for humouring his flight-of-fancy. Even so, none of it would have ever really been the same with the Australian missing from the team.
He was about to force himself to apologise for losing his temper, but before he could, there came a suspiciously loud thud a couple of rooms away. The boy didn't think much of it, though when Sniper immediately reached under the couch and produced an old but fearsome looking shotgun, he sighed and took what was likely going to be his only sip of the hot chocolate. Damn, and it had those cool little marshmallows in it, too.
A deathly silence pervaded everything, though only for the shortest of moments. When there came a second, louder thud, then what sounded horribly like smashing glass, both Scout and Sniper leapt to their feet in a sudden panic.
"Snipes?" Scout managed, and then yelped when he felt himself being roughly pulled back towards the window. He watched blankly as Sniper shoved the window open with one arm, his gun trained on the doorway leading to the kitchen.
"There's a drainpipe to the left. Use it to climb onto the roof, 'cause you'll be safer out of the way. The master bedroom window is open. Grab our shit and throw it outside. Load it in the car and use the pistol in the dashboard to protect yaself if ya need to. Got it?"
When he heard loud, gruff voices shouting from near the kitchen, Scout immediately felt a rush of panic and grabbed the front of Sniper's shirt, staring up at him in alarm. They didn't have respawn, this time, and whoever the intruders were, they rather evidently weren't afraid to simply take whatever it was that they wanted. Before he had time to really contemplate what was happening, he was being forcefully turned and pushed towards the window hard enough that he was forced to balance on his gut to stop himself from colliding face-first with the ground outside.
The boy shook his head and reached for the drainpipe that was clinging onto the side of the red, wooden wall to his left. As if he'd allow himself to be a wuss for much longer. He was the RED Scout and he'd dealt with far worse than burglars or whoever the hell had just smashed their way into the house. In fact, he'd go and kick their asses if Sniper hadn't been so intent on getting him out of there, and he trusted the guy's judgement. Mission first, questions later.
The drainpipe was awfully slick with rain, enough that it was impossible to get a grip on it. He could, however, use it as leverage to aid him in climbing to the top of the window. By the time he was rather precariously balanced on top of the wooden frame, he was already a decent way up, but from there, there was nothing else to rely on but the drainpipe again, so Scout shoved his hands behind it and used the fixings to hoist himself up. The screws and plastic dug into his hands but he barely felt it, intent on getting himself up onto the roof and temporarily away from danger. With some relief, though, did he finally grab onto the tiled ledge of the roof and use the coarseness of the wood beneath his feet to push himself up.
Several gunshots cracked loudly from down below. Though his arms and legs were aching, Scout clambered over the sloped roof and tried to recall just where the master bedroom would be. Another gunshot startled him, and he slipped on the wet tiles and slid down them a short distance, saved only when he managed to shove his foot against the chimney column and give himself enough time to find some grip. Soaked to the skin as he was by this point, it was proving increasingly difficult to navigate or even move, and for a while he was simply stuck in that position, spread-eagled across the stupid tiles and desperate to prevent himself from sliding off and breaking both legs.
Another gunshot, and a tile far too close to his head exploded in a shower of red. Shit shit shit -
He lunged for his life. Slamming down on his front towards the other side of the roof, he allowed himself to slide down on his stomach. This was it, this had to be the right side or he was gonna be dead meat in a few short seconds. After managing a quick glance over the edge – fuck yeah! He spied an open window on the first floor, and so quickly turned himself so that he could reach down over the ledge with his leg and attempt to perch on the top of the window presented to him.
He felt the pain before he heard the shot. What felt like fire engulfed Scout's side, but he was in no position to allow himself to fall. Instead, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to focus so that he could drop down onto the windowsill. His heart skipped several beats when his first attempt to grab the wooden ledge with his hands failed because of the wet slickness of it, but with a wild wave of his arms, he barely saved himself and threw his form into the room before he could get shot at again.
Scout landed with a heavy thud on his side – his bad side, to boot, and he could do nothing but curl into a foetal position and work away the agony that exploded across his ribs. What felt like minutes later, he rolled over and inspected the damage. Aghast to find blood soaking his jumper, he pulled it up to find a deep wound embedded across the side of his midsection. The bullet, apparently, had only just avoided achieving a near fatal injury and skirted past him, but damn did it ever hurt! Still, he could worry about that later. By escaping the downstairs situation, he had likely avoided the worst of whatever was happening down there.
There was the problem of whoever was shooting at him outside. Scout grabbed the two heavy packs that were leaning against the wall in the master bedroom and dragged them towards the window. Crouching beneath it, he allowed himself a short time to peer over the edge of the windowsill, and sure enough, he could just about make out a figure down below. As if in response, the glass of the window suddenly shattered over him as another shot was fired towards him. Despite the situation, Scout briefly acknowledged that the guy was either a lousy shot, or he wasn't actually shooting to kill, which was arguably a little more concerning. Who were these guys and what the hell did they want?
After brushing glass out of his hair, Scout dug into his pack and searched desperately for something that could help, but he had no weapons. Anything he had used when working for RED had belonged to the company. Meanwhile, Sniper's weapons were in a deposit vault in Adelaide because they were heavy and he thought it would be easier to leave them in the city for when they next travelled to the airport. Well, a lot of good that did. Without pausing to consider his options, Scout grabbed the heaviest of the two packs and then stood so that he could throw it out of the window. With some luck, it struck the huge guy outside straight on the head, hard enough to knock him roughly onto the ground skull-first.
The second pack followed suit. Scout reached outside and grabbed hold of the drainpipe again, this time to grip it with his hands and feet and slide down it until he was safe on the grass below. Without wasting time, he grabbed the two packs before his assailant could come to and ran around the side of the house until he reached the car parked out near the front.
With the two bags tossed haphazardly in the backseats, Scout clambered into the vehicle and slammed his hand down on the horn. Probably a mistake, but at this point, he didn't care, he just had to signal to Sniper that he was more than ready to get away from this place.
A car-horn blared from outside.
Miss Pauling turned to Sniper and raised an eyebrow in a fashion she thought was cool and cunning, but she didn't really have the face to be as frightening as the Administrator could be. Still, she could try, and at the very least, she finally had the guy cornered. The idiots she had brought with her had perished easily, unfortunately – two to Sniper and one to her (he'd just been so incompetent that she couldn't stand to watch it any longer).
Sniper's gun lay on the floor some metres away, him having been disarmed in her last ditch attempt to stop him from escaping. He'd tried to simply run past her, apparently unable to actually fire a shot in her direction. People really had to stop underestimating her. Even so, the woman had suddenly found herself with a similar conundrum. There she was, gun in hand and her prey stapled to the wall of what was once his parents' home. She'd fired a warning shot, first, and felt oddly horrible upon seeing an awful franticness arise in the man's eyes. A second, more fatal shot was becoming strangely difficult to consider.
"You look shrammed," Sniper said offhandedly, apparently sensing an opportunity. His tanned throat bobbed in a swallow. "There's a bath upstairs. You can use it."
"Oh," Miss Pauling managed, confused by his concern. It was true; she was freezing and sopping wet and had only just realised. "Uh, thanks, Sniper. Maybe later? Look, I'm sorry, but I've got to get this done. You know what the boss is like. You won't hold it against me, will you?"
The assassin smirked slightly. "'Course not, ma'am. I know how it is. I just never liked bein' on the wrong end of a gun. I mean, you were there last time that happened."
Miss Pauling sighed. "Yes, I know, and I really do sympathise regarding everything that happened. Don't think that I want to do this, Michael, but as you said … I never liked being on the wrong end of a gun, either."
"Micky," Sniper corrected, much to Pauling's surprise. "C'mon. Me and you went on a vision quest. Doncha remember? That knocked all the walls of formality outta the park. I never did get your name, though."
It was the woman's turn to smile. "Nice try." That small smile slowly fell, and she lifted her gun upon noting it had somehow ended up pointing at the floor. She cocked it and neared her newest victim, beginning to bite on her lower lip as she considered the fact that very few people had actually gotten in the way of her job before. This guy had quite the rep, and he was once a streamlined killer with his slick hair, immaculate sideburns, and absolute disregard for any kind of life. Now, it was like something had changed. Something small, perhaps, but something enough that he was actually trying to distract her and save his own life, because it meant saving somebody else's in the process.
She had seen it before. It was strange, she thought, that even a man who had trained himself to kill for a living could find that one person who totally dismantled a lifelong commitment to work and carnage. She certainly didn't understand how that one person could be Scout, but it wasn't like many things made sense in this world any more.
"I know you don't get it," Sniper attempted, and Miss Pauling's expression hardened slightly. Had her doubt been clear on her face? "Neither do I. I just wanna do right by him. The Administrator's got us blokes under her thumb, but he doesn't have to become like us. Not in his work, or … in his mind. 'Cause I saw it, y'know; I was in his head for days. All right, it was as awful as you'd expect, but we are the way we are 'cause life hasn't been kind to any of us, him included."
"What on earth do you see in him?" Pauling asked incredulously, genuinely curious.
"That stupid kid? A bit of nothin' and everythin'. You ain't in no position to judge, y'know. I'm not the one workin' for that evil old hag. Not any more."
Well, she certainly couldn't fault that logic.
One shot, and her mission would be over. She had always been so careful not to get attached to the mercenaries, because she knew everything that happened behind the scenes and she knew that few, if any, would actually escape their jobs alive. The Administrator displayed a certain possessiveness regarding them, because she knew that they were all stupid enough to continue obeying her, and skilled enough to continue doing a good job of it. There were those, however, who had let themselves in for more than they had bargained for and had become privy to some of the company's biggest secrets. Those were the ones who could be classified as dangerous, and one of them stood before Miss Pauling right now. All she had to do was shoot the guy.
But she couldn't.
It scared her slightly to see what he had become. The two of them had been peas in a pod, once, both dedicated to their work and they were good at it. There was something new to the guy's eyes, however, a kind of softness that shouldn't have been there but was, and maybe that same softness was in hers too as she let him sidle past her without so much as a threat. Maybe knowing these men and foolishly spending time amongst them had been the biggest mistake of her life, but it sure was something difficult to regret.
"Oi, Paulin'," Sniper said as he paused by the door, turning to regard her. "You're a tougher nut to crack than Scout, but I don't think a lady like you should be bendin' over backwards every day for that witch. Great job tryin' to murder me and all, but maybe you could come with us, instead."
Miss Pauling gaped at the man, her gun now hanging uselessly by her side. Surprisingly, a part of her was definitely tempted by his offer. She had never had much room for fun in her life, but those few times she had spared with the mercs had been great, killing mutant bread monsters and venturing into the mythical, sunken country of New Zealand. Maybe there was more where that came from on the other side. However, Sniper was soon to be no more and she certainly didn't want to be left on her own with Scout thanks to his inexplicable need to flirt endlessly with her despite her disinterest. Her work was all she really knew, after all.
"I'm giving you a head start, Sniper," the woman replied in a cool tone, pushing her glasses up her nose. "You're only really prolonging the inevitable, you know. I doubt you've told Scout anything in order to protect him, but I still have to be sure. He'll be interrogated, then reintroduced into RED. He doesn't belong anywhere else."
The two stared at each other for a moment, wordlessly acknowledging their temporary impasse. Within the silence, Sniper nodded once and then glanced over the room for a final time before turning to leave, shutting the door behind him.