Chapter Four

. . .

The BLU Spy leaned over the bright monitor with trembling hands, his sunken eyes locked onto the humming screen. The excruciating pain that throbbed behind his eyes was enough to make him want to tear them out. His urge to collapse to his knees was overwhelming but he couldn't peel his attention from the monitor for a second - that was all it took for them to sneak in. He was certain he'd done a good enough job to get here without them following, but you can't be too careful.

He'd spent months barricading this old barn until it was near-impenetrable and every inch of it was carefully monitored so that he had eyes encircling the entire premises. He'd been staring at the entrance on the dull screen for hours, his unwavering concentration nearly snapping several times due to his headache. Spy was a patient man after all, but he was still human. Wasn't he?

God it felt like his own body was eating itself from the inside out. His grey suit (he hadn't worn blue since leaving his team five years ago) was ragged and his black balaclava stuck to his face with cold sweat. He reeked of the dried blood that clung to him beneath his suit and mask. Maybe he could lie down for just five minutes? Two minutes? No. No, don't be ridiculous. He had to focus. That had been the RED Sniper and Engineer back at the house and worse yet - they'd seen him. He laughed a little then, though he wasn't sure why. Maybe if he didn't laugh, he'd weep. He ran a shaky hand over the material that covered his head, pain following the trail his bony fingers made.

When the picture on the screen began to flicker, his heart leapt into his throat and begin to constrict his already panicked breathing. When the monitor went completely blank, he brought his other hand to his head and barely suppressed his cry.

They'd found him.

. . .

Earlier that evening…

In the gloom that spread over the land right after sunset but before darkness fell, Engineer drummed his fingers over the wheel of the rental van. His arm and back were tingling again and he was praying hard that his headache wouldn't start up until after this had been taken care of. Beside him was Spy, playing with an unlit cigarette as his eyes scanned the horizon. After a while those grey-blue eyes glinted and he leaned forward in his seat.

"Straight ahead."

"'sactly how sure are ya that this is where he's at?"

"Quite sure." Spy looked down at his detecting device and nodded confidently.

"An' what if your, ah, lil' watch-thing there is wrong?" He gave Engie a look before fiddling with his device and punching in a few digits.

"This code I got some years ago," he explained "so I am most positive that it works."

"Oh yeah? An' where's that one pointed at?"

"Directly beside me. That is," he smirked "after I put in your R.I number."

"Hrn." Engie pressed his lips into a fine line. "Nifty lil' thing I'll give ya that. How did the boss even get away with makin' something like that?"

"Commissioning it under the guise of a concerned employer. It was designed to ensure that any mercenaries under their benevolent care who got themselves lost on the field of battle could be quickly located and returned to safety. When Medic enhanced our 'earts to be able to survive the uber-charge, our R.I chips were inserted as well. Now there is nowhere we can go that someone with this" he flashed his watch "cannot find us."

"For our own safety." Engie said slowly.

"Convenient, isn't it?"

"I tell ya," he sighed "that's a helluva lotta small print I musta missed on my contract." Spy snorted at him, but the conversation died after that. Eventually a large building was seen in the distance, jagged and old looking, and once they were less than a mile from it Engie stopped the van. A little behind him, Sniper parked his own van too; he'd taken the rest of the team except for Medic, who'd demanded not to be disturbed. Nobody knew why but it was best just to leave the old German be. Engie had a lot of respect for Medic, but he knew the doctor could be a real twist. Then again, the same could be said for all of his comrades – and himself.

"Alright. We'd best go on up an' disarm the security cameras lickety split. Once we get those doors open, signal to Sniper to bring his van up." The Frenchmen nodded. They got out and made their way to the barn on foot, with Engie clutching his wire-cutters enthusiastically. Above them the sky was dark but remained faintly streaked with crimson, like the embers of a dying fire. Engineer thought of his friend Pyro, and he knew there was a good chance that once he got his hands around the BLU Spy's throat, he might not be able to let go.

. . .

Was it him or was the room getting … smaller?

The former BLU had been so careful; he'd obsessively covered his tracks. Every minuscule detail was considered and considered again. He gnawed at his fingers, picked at his teeth and pinched at his nose. The room was definitely shrinking, closing in around him. Trying to smother him. Wait, was that footsteps? No it couldn't be. The Spy cursed himself and the world as he staggered towards another computer, an intense wave of cramping pain suddenly rippling up his spine. His head throbbed mercilessly as he fell to his knees, clenching his teeth. His legs spasmed and he cried out as every part of him writhed in agony - he felt on fire.

'You can't be too careful, can't be too careful, can't be too careful, can't…'

The monitor flickered back on for the briefest of moments and that's when Spy saw them. The former REDs. He blinked to clear the mist from his vision, almost in disbelief. The REDs? So it wasn't them. He knew he'd been careful. He bent forward to place his burning forehead onto the floor as a shaky laugh forced its way from his ruined lungs. The REDs would kill him once they got here, which they would manage without problem if that had been his RED counterpart he'd spotted on the bottom left of the screen. Good. At least RED would finish him relatively quickly.

Now inside the armoured barn house, the former REDs loaded their pistols. Sniper had brought his rifle but the rest were given one of the smaller guns that Spy and Engineer had brought along, which had caused some amount of kerfuffle from Solider and Heavy who preferred much bigger guns.

"Is so tiny…" Heavy looked genuinely saddened.

"Crikey. Ya sure it's jus' their Spy in here? S'an awful lotta work for jus' one man don'cha think?" Sniper eyed the mass of complex contraptions and other technological devices surrounding them as they headed deeper into the barn, a distinctly musky smell enveloping them.

"Quite sure." Spy's tone was cool. "Believe it or not Bushman, there are some people out there who can get an 'awful lotta' work done just fine by themselves."

"S'that s'posed to mean?"

"This way." Spy ignored his fellow assassin when he spotted a ladder. Climbing to the top level, the REDs peered around the various heaps of scrap metal and wires that littered the floor. Someone had been very, very busy. Engineer approached a nearby monitor which remained static from where he'd cut a couple of those pesky wires downstairs. He gave it a little tap with a gloved finger, but it sent pins and needles shooting up his arm and he winced, drawing back.

"Hey, y'aright hardhat?" Scout glanced over.

"Fine. Get goin'."

The lad made a face at him before sifting through one of the many stacks of paper, not really reading their contents but still impressed by the complexity of the plans. When he heard a low, stifled groan from behind a nearby shelf he went very still. Tightening his grasp on his pistol, he began to edge towards the shelf. Most wouldn't use the word clever to describe Scout, nor would the word subtle be a first to mind but he was able to manoeuvre himself over to the sound without looking overtly suspicious. It one swift movement, he struck the cloaked BLU Spy over the head, who fell into a heap.

"Gotcha, moron! Hey fellas, it's the Spy!" in far too much pain to struggle, Spy allowed himself to be roughly manhandled into the centre of the barn where he was thrown into in a chair to face the Engineer – who promptly shoved a gun right in his face.

"Howdy," his face was hard, his hand steady. "You'd best start talkin' boy, otherwise am gonna have'ta blow your head clean off." The BLU looked momentarily alarmed before blinking, scanning the faces of those surrounding him and appearing more confused than scared. "Ah said talk."

"I," his voice croaked. "-was surprised to see two former REDs the other night … but to see the whole ensemble, absent your Medic … and your Pyro…" he chuckled, though it broke into a cough. Blood leaked down his chin but he wiped it absentmindedly. "Truly a sight I never thought I would be seeing again.."

"It'll be the last damn thing ya'll ever see if y'don't start tellin' me exactly what ya were upta that night."

"Hmph. I should be asking you the same thi-" Engineer pistol whipped him with enough force to send him sprawling to the floor and his team mates jumped slightly at the unexpected move. The Engineer was a soft spoken man, but he was also a cold blooded killer when he felt the need to be one. BLU Spy coughed and spat out a molar, not bothering to face the Texan who could barely contain himself, his whole body went rigid. Sniper, sensing the predatory intentions of his friend, placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him. All Engie could think about was Pyro; writhing in fire.

"You getta ask me nothin', ya scoudral!" The former RED Spy, growing increasingly concerned that Engineer was going to beat his counterpart to death before he got his turn, approached the wheezing man, standing between him and his potential executioner.

"Strange" he drolled "'ow you were found poking around after the death of our Pyro, but were markedly absent after your own teammate was killed." Spluttering, still with his back to his interrogators, the BLU seemed to stiffen.

"…what?"

"I trust you know about your former Scout?"

"'ow … 'ow do you know about that?"

"We are the ones asking the questions." Crouching, he cocked his revolver. "Tell me, does the rest of your team know what you are up to?" when there was no reply, RED Spy yanked off the prisoner's balaclava and threw him back into the chair. What the REDs saw caused the atmosphere to freeze over, icy fingers catching their tongues. The only sound within the whole, eerie barn was the crackling wheeze of the BLU Spy.

The whole right side of his head was shaven, revealing deep needle marks and grisly scars. Burns caused by repeated electrocution were prominent on each temple and his right ear was gone, the skin around the wound rotten. There was scaring on his neck too, trailing down beneath his collar. He looked starved with his sunken eyes and gaunt cheeks, but more than anything else he looked like an old man. He was about fifty, but his terrible state had aged him considerably and without his mask he'd been stripped of his armour. He'd been an invisible terror once, sapping sentries and backstabbing all that stood between him and his objective; like a demon. But now, he was just a man. His eyes were like saucers as he stared at the unmasked look of surprise on his rivals face. He answered the hanging question with a fierce voice that shook from the pain crippling him.

"The rest of my team are dead."

"What …?"

"They're all dead," he trembled and he began to blink furiously. "I'm-" He brought up a shaky hand to clutch at his head and it was evident by the scars that covered his hands that they'd been surgically opened as well. The incision lines disappeared under the sleeve of his jacket, leaving the imagination to ponder on what terrible disfigurement lay beneath the suit. "I'm the only one left…" And then, under the wide-eyed stare of his former enemies, the BLU Spy began to weep. "The prototypes ... 'ave been destroyed."

"What do you mea-"

"-You are all marked for death now. I … I tried so..."

"Son, ya'll gotta tell us who's behind all'a this." Engineer spoke softly despite himself, lowering his gun and stepping forward.

"I can't. I can't I-" a sob managed to escape and he clutched his head with both hands now, he was beginning to have a panic attack. "I-I wanted to free them but I - they made me watch … They-they won't – not again." His breathes began to race in staccato and he got to his feet so quickly that his chair flew backwards and crashed off the wall, the sound bouncing around the room.

"Easy fella," Engineer slowly raised his gun again. "We can help ya; let bygones be bygones and all that. But y'all needa tell us who's behind this and what-"

"We trusted 'im." He didn't see the REDs anymore. The men before him were now his dead comrades. His dead friends. He could hear their screams all over again. "We trusted 'im." a long pause followed. The BLU dropped his hands from his head to hang limply. He muttered something that nobody present could quite catch.

"What?" Engie took a step forward, cocking his head to the side. The BLU Spy slowly looked up as a tear cascaded down his cheek; his dead eyes were blank - defeated.

"You can't be too careful." He pulled his pistol out, placed the barrel into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

. . .

The drive back to the hotel was completely silent, as the team thought over what happened at the barn. What the BLU Spy had said hadn't made much sense, but it was clear that the man had been through hell and back. What the hell could have happened to the BLU Spy to reduce him to the broken man that they'd just seen? One thing in particular that he'd said stuck out the most to his rival.

The entire BLU team was dead.

When his step-son had died, he'd wondered if it where his place to contact the boys old teammates to inform them. In the end, he'd decided that his wife had enough to deal with: she didn't need to know that her youngest son was a trained killer and had killed (and been killed) by her husband. It was something that would have come up if the BLU team had shown up at the funeral. Still, if what his counterpart had said was true, then his suspicions had been correct. His step-son hadn't died in an accident, and neither had Pyro.

Someone was hunting them.

"-You are all marked for death now…" The BLUs voice echoed in his mind.

. . .

The next morning Soldier was, naturally, in high spirits. Unlike his team mates who all had different, albeit lower than average levels of empathy, the American claimed to feel very little concerning the massacre of the BLUs. Engie had been on the phone all morning and Spy soon disappeared to consider their next move (and, no doubt, refrain from attacking Soldier.) Still no sign of the Doc, who'd remained holed up in his van. They others stayed in their rooms, thinking. That left only one thing for Soldier and Demoman to do; get drunk.

Soldier removed his shirt and discarded it, swigging at his beer and enjoying the feel of the sun on his bare arms. The greying undershirt he wore had an old stain down the front, which Demo assumed was barbecue sauce. He still wore his helmet, too.

"Take off your shirt an' lap up these rays while you can, Cyclops! Nothin' makes a man feel freer than a beer in the sun!" Demo agreed and unbuttoned his shirt but didn't remove it despite the generous warmth.

"Aye 's'a rare heat. Don't get weather like this back in Scotland I'll tell ye that! No even in the summer - which only lasts aboot a bloody week by the way."

"Y' know what? I've decided I'd like to see this Scotland of yours," Soldier mused "Could go haggis hunting."

"…Haggis huntin'?"

"Yeah! Catch us enough of the lil' bastards to feed us for the whole week of summer!"

"Och aye! We'll catch us a whole bloody herd 'o haggis!" They laughed and drank; reminiscing about the battles and violence they'd taken part in. Though it was on both their minds, they refused to talk about their dead rivals. All nine of them dead. Demo wasn't even sure how he was supposed to feel about that. The drunker they got meant the more aggressive they got and it wasn't long before they were locking horns for absolutely no reason. Again.

"Don't get wide wi' me ya bloody-"

"-get as wide as I damn well please, you skirt-twirling-"

"-crush yer nuts like a hic bloody-"

"Cross-dresser!" Demo burped and threw his hands into the air, getting to his feet to storm off rather than get into a brawl. Soldier, as it were, was havin' none of that.

"Oh no ya don-" he reached up to grab him but only caught the back of his shirt. As it was unbuttoned, Soldier only succeeded in pulling it from his friend's body, causing Demo to stiffen. It was the first time he'd bared his back in years. Demo's dark skin was ravaged; thick, ugly criss-crossing welts marred into him like crooked latticework. Scars overlapped scars, misshaping his flesh - the result of a brutal whipping, Soldier deduced. The ugliness reminded him of the markings on the BLU Spy's head.

"…Cyclops?" Still holding his shirt and speaking much softer than he intended, Soldier cocked his head in question, his helmet rattling at the movement.

When they'd first met in '68 the black civil rights movement was still raging on and hopes were high that hate crime would give way to equality. One of the first conversations that Soldier had shared with Demo concerned the assassination of Martin Luther King (even if Soldier thought King had been president at the time) it had been all over the news. Never before had Soldier considered that his friend had been the recipient of hate crime. He was black, but no racist would survive an encounter with him after provoking him. Surely?

"S'nothin'."

"The hell it is," Soldier felt his rage boiling. "I'll kill whoever-"

"S'fine Sol, wis a long time ago. I'd have killed 'em maself if I'd been more than a lad at the time."

"What happened?" Soldier took a step forward, his strong arms crossing over his chest. Now that Sol had seen; he'd not drop it until he knew.

"Right. Wis ma first time ta the States. Wis just a kid, ye'know – barely fifteen. Looked older though, passed as twenty-one nae bother. Wis … the summer of '47, I think. Can ya believe that? Nearly thirty years ago … Anyway, I wisnae aware'a the segregation and that goin' on back then. Sounds hard to believe, ah know, but we wis so isolated up in Ullapool. Jus' wisnae prepared for anythin' like what America had, but lad's will do as they do." He took a large swig of scrumpy, wiping his dripping mouth. "Truth be told sol, still have no bloody idea what I done. Maybe I didn't do anythin', but a bunch a locals lads took a real dislike ta me. I looked 'em in the eye, ye see. Knew I wisnae below them, an' I bloody well didn't act like they intimidated me. They did." He admitted, forcing a grin. "To cut a long bloody depressin' story short, they jumped me one night, drove me off inta the fields. Think they were meanin' ta lynch me, but the whole town knew 'bout them, so…"

"They whipped you?"

"Aye. That they did. Had an ol' fashioned bull whip an' everythin'. Said it wis one their grandpa used to deal wi' insubordinate slaves." He shook his head. "Bastards." Soldier handed Demo his shirt back.

"The sonsofbitches who did that weren't real Americans. They weren't real men. I hunted down Nazi scum for years, I'll find these fu-" his whole body shook as he imagined his friend whipped for the colour of his skin. Skin that bore scars sustained from glorious battles he'd shared with him. He should wear every scar as a medal, not a mark of shame. Demo was the bravest man Soldier had ever met – and he damn well refused to allow this injustice to be ignored. Sensing this, Demo covered his back and placed a hand on the Americans shoulder.

"Thanks mate, but dinnae be lettin' it get ta ye. Wis jus' the way of it back then."

"-lower than scum, that's what they are! Maggots! Lower than maggots –maggot shi-" He continued to rant, his voice graduating to an ear-splitting scream as his anger consumed him. Demo smiled a soft smile – one of genuine gratitude. Soldier was nothing if not a Patriot, but he looked about ready to burn a path right through his beloved country if it meant avenging his best friend.

"Sol."

"I'll snap their spines with m-"

"Sol."

"What!?"

Demo squeezed him in a drunken, brotherly hug. "Cheers, pal." He held up his scrumpy bottle and grinned. After a moment, soldier did the same. He'd deal with those bastards after he'd sorted out whatever crap the BLU Spy had been talking about. "So, ye know how ta hunt haggis dae ye?"

"Like a captain!"

From the roof of the hotel, Spy watched the two drunks together. He didn't know what to think about this whole mess with BLU, all he knew was he was in no the mood for company. He'd slipped away unnoticed by his team and glided up the stairs to the roof with all the grace of a-

"Alright, mate?" Oh for the love of- The Frenchman ignored Sniper as he continued to fiddle with his unlit cigarette, still watching Demo and Sol. "Cuttin' down?" when he regarded the lanky Australian, who was motioning to the cigarette he noted that Sniper really hadn't changed much at all these past years. The taller man done his goofy smile, a lopsided grin that resulted from never having his teeth straightened.

"I've quit," said Spy, as he lit the cigarette and brought it to his lips, exhaling a cloud of elegant smoke a moment later. Sniper snorted at him.

"So I see. 'Lot on yer mind?"

"I am sure everyone 'as. Although I was not as close to Pyro as our dear toymaker, 'e was still a comrad-"

"S'not whot I meant." Spy arched a thin brow, but Sniper gave him a look. "Yer thinkin' bout yer step-son, yeah?"

"That … is none of your business."

"I know." He sniffed. "Wos he much like our Scout?" Spy took another long drag, contemplating wither to have the conversation or not.

"In some aspects. Truth be told, it 'as been so long since I referred to 'im as 'the BLU Scout' that I almost find myself correcting those that do."

"Whot wos his name?"

"… Nathan. Or just 'Nate' as 'e insisted." He smiled a little. "'e was furious when 'is mother told me."

"No kiddin'. Musta been weird tryna explain all'a that to yer wife."

"Please, she still doesn't know that I worked for RED, let alone that 'er youngest son was an 'ired killer. She always assumed 'is 'ostility towards me was simply 'im being protective which, of course, was justifiable at the time."

"Heh. Christmas dinner musta been interestin'." Sniper snickered, picturing Spy and Scout kicking one another under the table and throwing food at each other behind the BLU ma's back

"Everything was interesting at first, naturally, but …" he went quiet. "Eventually everything worked out..." For the first time since his return, a deep reaching sadness reflected in the eyes of the Spy, his mask finally falling.

"M'sorry Spook."

"Why?"

"Don't needa pry any further t'know ya cared fer the lad. Everyone wos suspicious when we first found out 'bout you bein' married to his mum an' all but…" he sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "The war had ended; there wos no more REDs or BLUs. Ya musta grown accustomed to the kids presence, if nothin' else. An' he's gone now so … m'sorry fer yer loss an' that." When Spy didn't reply or move for a long time, Sniper feared he'd said too much. They had butted heads more than most back when they'd worked together, but having similar jobs had eventually brought about a mutual (although unspoken of) respect. Standing awkwardly on the roof, he grew less than uncomfortable and made to leave.

"Bushman."

"Yeah?"

"… Thank you." He smiled at the Frenchman's back before continuing off. The sun was warming him through his vest and he could do with a quick siesta before Engie found something for him to do. Walking down the stairway however, he felt a cold chill creep up his spine - the type he got when hunting game in the outback and an unseen predator was nearby. He shivered, his ears prickling in suspicion.

Drip

His ear twitched.

Drip drip

He turned to the source of the noise, pinpointing its location. It was near.

Drip-drip

He walked around the corner to find himself looking at Scouts hotel room. The door was open just a crack but Sniper didn't need to enter the room to know what the dripping was. He didn't even bother to step over the thick puddle of blood that had gathered at the door before bursting into the room.

"Scout!"

. . .