Author's notes: Phew! This took way, way longer than I'd thought, and here I was trying to get this done as soon as possible so I could clear up last chapter...
The basic concept for chapter 26 (Saxton Hale returning as a robotic pirate ghost) was a joke idea that came up when discussing where'd I take this story in the future. Needless to say, the idea was amusing enough that I decided to keep it and use it to form a joke chapter that'd leave heads being scratched and allow for the real chapter to follow a day or two later. That was the original plan, but I instead decided to mix things up, making the joke chapter, despite the clear insanity, feel much like a real chapter. And, as you'll see here, the real chapter flows straight from the joke chapter...it may be a cliche explanation, but it works.
To everyone saying it had something to do with Meet the Pyro, I apologise. The chapter was uploaded after the video was released and had actually been written a good bit beforehand. With Pyro's insanity having saved the day and the time it was released, this was understandable. But fear not, there will be a little reference to the latest "Meet the Team" video coming up...
As for this chapter...don't want to say too much about it, but this is the new longest chapter by quite some margin, weighing in at over 8,000 words (the average still being a bit over 3000 last I checked) and it took forever to do, even with me cutting material out to use for the next chapter. Here's hoping you enjoy it, thanks to everyone who has read so far!
Edit: This is what I get for spending several hours on the chapter and not getting someone to proof read before publishing it. Most errors have now been fixed, special thanks to GothicCheshire for sending me a corrected file.
Edit2: Looks like when I tried to replace the chapter with the corrected version that it didn't actually update, how troublesome. Likewise for some older chapters. Thanks to everyone who caught the errors anyway.
Chapter 27: Mirrored Madness
Isaac found himself roughly shaken awake, his vision slowly blurring together, his hazy mind trying to piece the shapes before him into something recognisable. Blinking, a glance around, a deep breath, a quick rub of the eyes and a confused expression.
It was cold, so cold...and on the horizon he could see the welcome sight of the sun rising. All around him the team were rising too, his comrades looking at him with some degree of concern. His mind whirred, logic quickly fighting memories and confusion, his face slipping into a neutral mask. The pieces clicked together and he hastily substituted his shock at them being alive with confusion at something that'd be less embarrassing to explain.
"...why didn't you wake me up when it was my turn to take watch?"
Dell scratched the back of his head before placing his own helmet atop his head and answering his twin with a nervous grin.
"Well, truth be told Tex, you were tossing and turning a lot in your sleep and we tried to wake you when it looked like you were sufferin', but you settled down an' well...seeing as you clearly hadn't had the best of sleep, none of us had the heart to wake you up once you'd gotten all peaceful."
Isaac merely nodded, sleepily mumbling his thanks and trying to wipe the vivid memories of last night's dream. Strange how dreams were like that: despite the absurdity he had seen (Robotic pirate ghosts? Really!) he had accepted it all and not once realised that the insanity had been a strange and horrific nightmare. Granted, he'd seen enough madness in his waking life that having that beast come back to haunt him wouldn't really be that crazy, but all the same...
The former RED quickly lost himself in his thoughts, not noticing himself shaking in the cold or the approaching footsteps crunching through the light snow and rock. It wasn't until a gloved hand placed a blanket on his shoulders that he snapped out of it, turning to face the masked form of the Pyro.
"Mmph ohay?"
"...yeah. Thanks Ashley, don' worry 'bout it."
Despite the handicap of having the mask hide any facial expressions the fire-lover may have made, Ashley somehow found a way to look doubtful before flashing a brief thumbs up and heading off to the others, everybody ready to move out. Quickly pulling himself together, Isaac loaded the LFD back onto his back, double-checked his weapons and put the past behind him.
They had work to do.
###
The rest of the descent was hardly a walk in the park, but compared to previous slopes, snowstorms, attacks, sudden drops and general brushes with death...
Well, it was certainly a lot nicer. The path down was fairly gentle in its downwards slope and whilst it was somewhat bumpy on occasion, there were no incidents with the makeshift trailer. Light conversation between the mercenaries started to pick up as they tried to plan the next move and pondered on what challenge awaited them next. You couldn't stay as a mercenary for long and realistically stay optimistic, certainly not after all these men had gone through. It wasn't a case of whether there'd be something to encounter today, but rather what.
They had run rampant in their rebellion against the Administrator, ransacked her bases for equipment, taken down the Mann Co CEO himself, annihilated her little robotic minions and continued to escape her grasp...all the while, leaving nothing but bloodshed and destruction in their wake. Sometimes they might wonder which one was truly the monster, but it was too late to turn back now. Besides...no amount of self-doubt could stop them now, for all the death they had dealt, they had their mission, and their enemy had her sights on the world.
And unlike most maniacs dreaming of world domination, the Announcer to their little war had the position and resources to achieve world conquest without the world ever knowing, should she choose to be silent. Should that be impossible, her control reached far enough to take it by force if necessary. Maybe it truly was a case of which was the lesser of two evils, the ten men who had killed for profit and now killed for survival, or the puppet-master pulling the strings.
For as certain as it was that the Sun would rise again tomorrow...
There would be this conflict, this clash of wills, of puppets and their former master intertwined in chaos and death.
###
As the day progressed, the sun rising higher as the mercenaries sunk lower, the chill left their lungs. It left their skin, their bones, their weary but alert faces. Snow had given way to rocks and dirt. Rocks and dirt were soon joined by green plant life and deep blue streams. With each step they focused a little more, with each step they got a little closer to the next hurdle, with each step they got closer to Hell.
With one final drop, pained grunts all around, with one final group effort to safely lower the trailer, with one final look back at the mighty structure they had come down from, they were off the mountain and back on track. With so many dead from attempting to hunt the team after the defeat of Hale, with any luck the numbers would be spread too thin, hopefully allowing them to secure a base as their own without too much trouble.
But of course, that would be too easy.
Standing at attention, weapons at the ready, were nine familiar silhouettes, the still-rising sun at their backs. No words were exchanged between the two groups, the shadows standing still as the ten mercenaries cautiously approached the nine, drawing their own weapons. The tension in the air was thick enough to drown in, beads of sweat clearly visible as muscles tightened, eyes focusing on the mirror images facing them.
Dressed in uniforms that were identical to the old BLU uniforms in everything but colour, those nine identical men stood there, clad not in red or blue but in a dark grey, wielding the original stock weapons...or so it appeared. However, these reminders of the similarities between the RED and BLU mercenaries and how they'd somehow never made the connection were not alone.
He was clad in a black formal business suit, resting some of his weight forwards on his umbrella, point embedded into the earth, a smart but simple hat resting upon his greying hair. His face was wrinkled ever so slightly and scars still clearly visible made his presence in battle all too clear. For all his apparent age, the mystery man somehow radiated great strength even as he wearily rested on his umbrella, eyes wistfully looking into the distance, one covered by a monocle and both lost in thought.
Lost in thought until those eyes then focused in on the ten mercenaries who had come to a halt a short distance away. In an instant those eyes suddenly become full of something else, something that could not be described as a raging fire, but rather as a controlled fiery presence contained within sturdy ice, a strange wisdom gleaming in those eyes. The man lifted himself up, pulling the umbrella out of the ground, spinning it and placing it onto the ground to his side in a single swift motion, his right hand still gripping it firmly even as the dirt released into the air from the action settled back down to the ground once more.
"Ah, I see you have arrived. I do apologise that I couldn't meet you earlier but circumstances have prevented our meeting. I decided that now would be the most opportune moment in time, I do trust that you've all rested well before you returned down here to Terra Firma?"
The man spoke with a well-cultured accent and a firm but soft tone, politeness embedded into every syllable he vocalised. Each word held within it a sense of friendliness, one of a more reserved and tempered sort. His accent, for any other mystery surrounding him, was fairly easy to guess, it was a very strong and stereotypical English accent...or perhaps someone trying too hard to imitate the generic classy form.
"I am most sorry to have to ask this of you when you've had so much trouble in your lives as of late, but unfortunately I am bound by contract and must do as the master requests. I'm afraid that I must insist that you engage myself and these nine familiar foes or else risk the troublesome risk of a most gruesome and unpleasant death."
At this the suited man gave a small but sad smile before gesturing to the other men, all of them silent and strangely unmoving.
"For the purposes of testing the next phase in TF Industries' mercenary program, it would be preferable if each of you were to do battle with your nigh-identical counterpart. I must say that I'm most curious to see how the former BLUs handle the latest batch of mirror mercenaries my master has produced."
It was at this point, as the others glared with a mixture of emotions at their counterparts (some with anger more than others, Jane looked about ready to pounce on the Grey Soldier, whilst Nils seemed more curious and amused by the opposing Medic than anything else) that Isaac spoke.
"Now, I hate to interrupt ya an' all as you've been real polite about this so far, but where exactly does this leave me? I ain't a former BLU and I don't see a second Engineer on your little team of mutes there. Only other guy I see here is you and forgive me for sayin' this, but I ain't too keen on beating the tar outta an old man if I can help it."
Quiet chuckling was the Engineer's only response for a moment before the formally-dressed man straightened up a little further, raising his head a little. Despite the sun being ahead and behind him, his monocle seemed to glow and his eye became obscured behind it as if a great amount of glare had reflected off the lens.
"I am so glad you asked that, my good Mr. Howard. Whilst I may not appear to be up to a bout with those such as yourself who still hold the fire of youth, I dare say that in my own humble opinion that this old veteran may still not be totally helpless before you."
A pause, the Grey mercenaries slowly easing out of their unmoving stances, faces starting to gain some measured semblance of emotion as they stared deeply into the faces of their foes, the members of Team Fortress. This motion was noted and everyone immediately became even more high-strung, trigger fingers itching and ready.
"For you see...many moons ago I was but another mere Civilian, escorted by mercenaries not dissimilar to yourselves, terrified and helpless with nothing but these hired guns and my umbrella to defend me. One day I quite frankly got sick of this fear, of being an asset to be fought over. I rebuilt myself in the flames of war and fortified my frozen resolve. I may have once been a Civilian...but you may refer to me simply as The Gentleman. Or, should I say...The Tenth Class?"
Raising his umbrella with one hand into a fencing position, his other hand rose into the air and clicked once, unleashing the barely restrained simmering urge to battle between the mercenaries and their mirrors. With everyone else scattered to their own personal battles, this left only Isaac and The Gentleman.
"En guarde, Sir Isaac Howard: from one Angel of Death to another, let us demons dance once more!"
###
Kevin couldn't explain it any better than he could explain the sudden realisation that Isaac and Dell where near enough identical. He just knew this faker was just like himself and the departed RED Scout and that they had to fight. Why had he split off from his team? He didn't know, but he fought alone anyway, some part of him finally giving him an answer, even as he ran and jumped and ducked and rolled:
This was personal. This copy was here, wearing his face, using his old guns, using his tactics and unlike the RED Scout, didn't even seem to have his own spine or personality. His taunting seemed to be falling on deaf ears and that just angered him even more.
And so the two Scouts sprinted and weaved and fired at the other inhuman blur, the two of them forming a frenzied spiral, a dance of death, bullets and buckshot flying wildly into the air. Both boys were fragile and their primary weapons excelled at close range. As much as they tried to wear each other down with bullets from the Grey's pistol and the nails from Kevin's nailgun, it ultimately came down to who could get a good, point-blank meatshot with their weapon of choice.
The bullets had too little punch to them to do much, especially when Kevin had the sense of mind to use what bits of his uniform had become lightly armoured to deflect them, and the nails, whilst more damaging and forming a deadlier swarm of projectiles, were easy for the Grey Scout to dodge the vast majority of. It was a case of reflexes and luck more than anything: Kevin's modified Force-A-Nature shot more pellets, had more overall punch, fired faster, reloaded faster and had incredible knockback, but the Grey's Scattergun was more reliable, offering a larger clip size, more force per pellet, less spread ruining shots from medium range and less knockback interfering with aiming.
Ultimately though, there could have been no doubt as to which had more experience in such battles of speed VS speed, of who had more drive to win, of who had the tools and insanity to do it. In such a battle between fast targets, it was about who could manoeuvre themselves into the better position. Both being evenly matched in speed, both capable of double-jumping and both with good reflexes, the terrain would seem to settle it. But here the land was mostly flat with only the occasional foothold if one were to head towards the mountains, the rare boulder or raised lump of earth...
But to Kevin, that didn't matter, he knew how this would end. The twin Scouts, having broken apart to try circle strafing the other whilst spamming shots jumped and flipped back into a ready position facing the other, quickly switching to their primary weapon before looking the other in the eye and charging. Both sawn-off-shotguns fired again and again in a spread of buckshot that slowly became closer packed and more damaging as they got closer and closer, ducking, weaving, jumping and side stepping. Finally, the mirrored runners closed the gap and at once, both leapt into the air, the distance rapidly closing as both flew through the air, bleeding and battered from their battle.
However, there was one difference in their actions at that last moment in mid-air. The Grey aimed his weapon at his counterpart, but Kevin aimed his weapon down. Both mercenaries fired, the former BLU propelled even higher into the air, by the insane knockback of his primary whilst the Scattergun's pellets missed harmlessly below. The mercenary's mirror finally broke its mostly neutral expression with a look of sheer disbelief as Kevin dodged the blast, flew above the nameless young man and with an instinctive ease born of years on the battlefield, filled the Scout's back with buckshot, forcing him to the ground even as a stream of rapid fire nails held him there.
Forever.
###
Jane didn't need or want an explanation, he just knew that himself and this copycat scum were going to fight to death and by Uncle Sam was he going to beat this wannabe Soldier senseless! His opponent was fairly grim-faced beneath the helmet, whilst Jane was instead feeling an odd sense of savage joy. Something about fighting another Soldier again, of waging rocket to rocket, of shotgun to shotgun, of fighting with another man...
Exploding pursuing vehicles was one thing, shooting down helicopters was another and fighting through countless inferior troops was yet another. But even that robotic onslaught wasn't the same as this, of fighting another person like him. In a rare burst of insight and clarity, Jane realised just how much he missed the RED team, his own even crazier counterpart in particular, but perhaps a certain Demoman so much more...
And well, this Grey son of a bitch was neither, didn't say a word, didn't laugh or scream commands, barking as he strode through the chaos, following Jane as they took their battle far away, but...it was still something. This Soldier growled at him and was certainly good enough with both aim and withstanding pain. Only Jane's long-time experience saved him from being exploded into small chunks time and time again and his opponent was strangely tough, rockets exploding at his feet and buckshot emptied into his chest not even fazing the helmet-wearing copy.
Jane grinned. He was starting to like this guy, a shame he'd have to die so soon.
Their launchers were empty and the twin Americans raised their heads, helmets no longer covering their eyes. Looking awkwardly at each other with piercingly insane eyes, they slowly lowered their heads and nodded. The Grey had the same twisted sense of honour and the two men dropped their weapons to the ground. No sense wasting ammo with near-misses, rockets were expensive. And so they drew their shotguns, one stock and one double-barrelled. Shot after shot as the two ran at one another, the shots digging into the skin but neither showed their pain to the other.
Pain was just weakness leaving the body, after all. Getting closer and closer they eventually threw the shotguns down too and both leapt forwards, rolling into a wrestling, punching, kicking and screaming mess of madness. Blow after blow rocked their bodies, blow after blow drew blood, blow after blow inflicted further head trauma, their helmets lost early on in the rolling mess. It took a grenade from the battle between the now relatively nearby Demomen landing dangerously close to separate the Soldiers, both men thrown, battered, bruised, bleeding and no doubt with broken bones, back towards their launchers.
Staggering up to their feet, each loaded a single rocket, insanity and fire gleaming in their eyes as they checked that their melee weapon was still present on their person. Attempting to run forward, each slumped and stopped at least once before continuing until some unspoken cue passed and both jumped upwards, a single explosive exiting their respective tubes, billowing smoke. Time seemed to slow as the two rockets detonated and the Rocket Jump sent the men flying into the air, somehow staying upright despite their injuries, despite the madness of what they were doing, despite the trail of blood behind them as they flew through the sky.
The Grey drew his shovel, screaming without words or reason. The former BLU drew his katana, a furious war cry that might have once had words embedded, but had been lost in the journey from brain to mouth. Both arced through the air, weapons at the ready, both tired, both knowing that when they met and fell, at least one of them would die and perhaps neither of them would still be standing. Mirrored Americans met and blade met shovel, both men with their teeth bared, eyes shining with bloodlust, savage roars booming all round with this final clash.
Shovel struck sword...and sword won.
It sliced through the handle, the head falling off uselessly and with their momentum, the movement continued. Jane held the katana firmly in both hands as he continued his overhead slice, seeing all the little details as his blade painfully cut through the broken Grey's body, watching as the skull was split, as the brain was squished and the eyes popped. The Soldier watched as bone and brain and flesh and blood and guts were all revealed in a gory, flying mess.
Jane landed, immediately falling to one knee, blade still in hand as he crouched down, a moment later hearing the sound of two halves thumping into the earth behind him, followed by the splattering of blood on the ground. It was only then that he dropped the weapon and collapsed.
###
Ashley was so happy to find another Pyro, even if this one wasn't quite as "rainbow and lollipops" as the RED Pyro had been. Still, as sure as they were that this Grey one would be good fun to be with, this Pyro would threaten the team if Ashley didn't take care of it.
Wait...take care of it? Oh of course, yes, the rainbows would make this Grey one talk. Quietness from a Pyro was hardly a surprise, but sheer silence would not do. Oh no, Ashley just had to introduce this poor thing to all the happiness and green fields and...
The former BLU shook their head, dispelling the madness for a moment. No...had to stay in reality, had to stop lapsing...they'd been doing so well, they hadn't fallen back like that since joining Team Fortress and even at BLU, unlike their RED counterpart, reality was fixed in place most of the time. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing another Pyro and being forced to fight it that had forced the visions and ecstatic happiness to return?
Whatever the reason, Ashley promised themselves that they wouldn't fall to "Pyroland" again. The RED Pyro had fallen in so deep as to never recover before they'd been killed and the fire-lover didn't want to be a repeat of that. They hadn't told the team about the madness, of the sheer joy and happiness Pyroland brought, of how hard they'd fought to keep in touch with the harsh, bloody reality rather than the sugar-coated dream.
And they didn't need to know.
No doubt this Pyro, poor soul, was trapped in Pyroland themselves, or perhaps something worse. Whatever their state of mind, no matter how pitiful this flamethrower-wielding lunatic was, their life had to be ended, one incurable Pyromaniac, one charred terror, one mysterious monster...it was more than enough for this world.
Fire met fire, the suits preventing afterburn and Ashley's being especially resistant to fire. It didn't take long for the Grey Pyro to realise that simply spewing flames at one another whilst running forward wasn't going to work and the mirror mercenary started making full use of the airblast and shotgun, trying to position the former BLU into a corner. But Ashley was far more skilled with the use of compression blast control, combining this with the fireball and fire stream extras of the modified flamethrower, as well as a few well aimed shots from their own shotgun made it all too easy.
Indeed, it didn't take long before the Team Fortress member saw the enemy pyromaniac slump, breathing deep and pained. If one knew what it sounded like and got close enough, you could almost make out the muffled crying of the unknown within that asbestos suit. Ashely placed one hand on the shoulder of the fallen fire-lover, causing the poor creature to look up, staring through those gas mask lens with wide eyes at the shotgun levelled against its head with one hand. Both closed their eyes and the trigger was pulled.
Bang!
...funny how things in life worked out. The accidental drop of a small match could become a terrible fire that could consume all: a little thing could become something big. And then there was stuff like this, where another life much like their own suddenly hung in the balance and all it took was a pull of trigger: something as huge as another life becoming something as small as a twitch of the finger.
Maybe the suit wasn't too damaged and Ashley wasn't too injured after that short battle, but the hurt remained all the same. Sometimes the biggest pains were those nobody saw...
###
Ewan wasn't the sort to back down from a fight. He'd done it in just about every pub in Scotland, he leapt at the chance for this mercenary job and he'd given it his all in the Soldier VS Demoman War, even though the whole event was clearly aimed at breaking the friendship between the RED Demoman and their own BLU Soldier. So here was some other mirror image of his likeness, yet another Black Scottish Cyclops who just so happened to be a demolitions expert and had lost an eye?
Well, if that didn't get the Scot rearing for a fight, nothing would. He'd gotten a lot of flak for being the kind of man he was (admittedly, some of it, such as his frequent drunken "explosives testing" was deserved) and now he found the second man wearing his likeness! The RED Demoman was one thing, he'd not realised their similarities fully back then and the poor dead sod was one hell of a worthy opponent! But this silent Grey bastard...
It quickly became apparent to Ewan that this was going to be no mere mirror match. This Grey git used the stock grenade and sticky launchers, which was quite different to his current loadout. Sure he'd used his Demoman gear far more than his Demoknight gear, especially in taking down Isaac's buildings back when RED and BLU were still fighting but still...should be interesting. The fight almost ended very early on when Ewan charged forward with his shield and sword. His counterpart almost looked panicked for a moment and started to empty his grenade launcher wildly before realising that jumping out of the way of the strike would be wiser. As such, rather than having his head cleaved from his shoulders or his body bisected, instead the Grey mercenary escaped with only a cut and some bruising from jumping to the ground.
Sure enough, the enemy Demoman had made a hasty retreat and was learning to keep his distance and ensure that he had stickybombs between them at all times. The Grey mostly seemed to be relying on a mixture of precision shots and sheer spam with his grenade launcher and Ewan had to admit that his opponent had landed more good hits on him than he had. Still, Ewan had his shield, armour, spirit and experience.
The stickybomb trap prevented him from charging in a straight line to his foe, but what his enemy hadn't considered was the possibility of other routes, or that Ewan would use his own manually detonated pipebombs to clear the trap and go in for the kill. It was a combination of the latter and leading the predictable Grey mercenary to where'd he shot a pipebomb earlier that allowed the former BLU his chance.
The remote-detonated pipebombs scattered the trap, and the one the Demoman had stumbled close to hurt and disorientated him just long enough for Ewan to make his charge. With a cry of "There can be ONLY ONE!" it was all over, the enemy's head sailing through the air as blood rushed upwards in a spout from the neck, the body collapsing to the ground.
The surviving Demoman winced, having taken more damage from his opponent's explosives than he'd liked. Still...the fight was over; he'd done his duty both to his team and to respect the fallen RED. The imposter was gone, and where there was two there was now...
Only one.
###
Grigori was angry. He had looked after his team, both BLU team and Team Fortress, he had looked after his Medic and he had looked over his gun...his love...his darling Sasha. But now this man had come, so roughly treating that cheap imitation of Sasha! She may have been but a mere copy and a fake, but even fakes had to be treated with some degree of respect. No...this Grey Heavy's weapon had not been polished recently, the barrel was worn and yet it didn't appear to have seen battle.
A gun bearing the stains and damage of war...that he could respect. Was best to look after her and fix her up, but imperfection attained through battle was acceptable. This however...was crime. And his opponent, this big baby who thought he could stand a chance in battle against him? It was laughable, this man showed nothing, did not show fires of anger, did not show pain of regret, did not even show reluctance when separated from the rest of his team and especially his Medic.
Grigori had cast a single glance to Nils when they'd gone their separate ways to engage these copies in battle that had spoken volumes, most likely more than this Grey Heavy had said in his entire life. The RED Heavy had been a good man. Perhaps a little unfaithful, switching from minigun to minigun, but he clearly loved them all and treated them and his doctor just as well as Grigori did himself.
To the former BLU it seemed as if his foe's fate had already been sealed. This fellow Russian knockoff showed no respect, no concern, no care, no spirit, no passion...such a man was truly more animal than man and would not survive. Indeed, as the two giants paced around each other, revving up their miniguns, there seemed to be little intelligence or free will in the action. And so the expensive, custom-tooled cartridges were ejected at incredible speed, high-calibre bullets scattered throughout the air and lodging themselves in human flesh.
This battle was not one of outwitting the opponent, of using the full arsenal they had available to take the other down or even a battle of outmanoeuvring the foe. It was down to a case of endurance, pure and simple. Two warriors more comparable to tanks than men would unleash their weapon's full might and they would continue to fire, continue to hold the powerful weapon still, even as the recoil would shatter any other man's arms, even as the bullets would tear apart any other man's body, even as the pain would destroy any other man's mind.
With each mere second that passed, another forty bullets would be screaming through the air, seeking to rip through the outer layers of their skin, to lodge themselves in the torso, to dent the miniguns. With each bullet, with each rotation of the barrel, with each pounding beat of the transplanted heart in his chest, Grigori's muscles tensed more and more. He felt the pain and ignored it as he had done on the battlefield so many times before. He felt the blood seep out of him, felt it pool around his feet into a red, sticky mess.
He had felt this all before and yet it was so different. Before he had always had respawn prevent the fear of death and even when respawn was gone, his Medic had always been nearby. But now Nils was on his own, as was everyone else in the team. They could not help him any more than he could, despite the overwhelming urge for the Russian to lend a hand to his comrades.
...Grigori felt dizzy and was finding it harder to harder to keep his hold on Sasha true as she finished chewing through the normal ammo capacity of the weapon and started to feast on the backup ammo belts the Heavy wore. Vaguely remembering that this feature was one that had been added on after much debate, it took a moment for his weary mind to process the clicking of an empty minigun and the sound of a man falling to his knees before crying out in pain as bullets punched through his face and skull.
Sasha became quiet, the barrels slowly coming to a halt. She was slowly, gently and lovingly lowered to the ground for a moment as Grigori took one good look at the mutilated corpse that had once been in his own likeness before falling to ground himself. Unable to hold it in any more, he let out his reflexive cry:
"DOKTOR!"
###
Dell found himself somewhat amused by his battle with the Grey Engineer. His counterpart had shown surprising skill, pain tolerance and reflexes, something that had taken years for himself to build up, but was otherwise very much a rookie. Whilst finding good nest locations in this kind of terrain was certainly difficult, it was hardly impossible to find a place where the sentry could be shielded from most ranged attacks and still be able to fire on oncoming targets. The sentry nest of his opponent was certainly set up well and was far away from the others in an area with more cover and hills, but was hardly optimal.
Moreover, the Engineer acted much like Dell himself had done early on, and much like Isaac had been too: overly defensive and unwilling to leave the nest. Of course, Dell had been forced out of the role when BLU was pushing the offensive and the addition of the mini-sentry certainly helped. As for Isaac, the former RED had learnt to start patrolling areas nearby and if he knew his buildings weren't at immediate risk, he'd wandered out and assisted his teammates.
Of course, that was back then and this was now. Dell considered just setting up his own level three sentry, taking control of it with the wrangler and destroying the nest from afar, but that felt a bit too cheap and he wanted to observe this Grey mercenary a little more. The Texan double didn't use his weapons often but when he did, the former BLU felt something...off...about them. As he continued to harass his foe, slowly chipping away at a dispenser with his pistol and receiving an accurate burst of return pistol fire for his efforts, it clicked.
Darting out into view of the sentry once more and dropping a mini-sentry down before leaping back for cover, he confirmed it. The Grey's weapons may have looked stock, but they weren't. They basically functioned the same, but there were small bonuses, little tweaks and improvements which by themselves weren't much, but together formed a much more dangerous weapon. The pistol had emptied its clip faster and had much less spread and a good bit more bite to its shots. The shotgun was louder, shot a few more pellets, hit harder and seemed to take ever so slightly less time to reload. And that sentry...
He knew his sentries, he knew exactly how fast they were to react to a threat and how damaging they could be, and how to fool them. That level three up there had locked onto and destroyed the mini-sentry faster than it should have. That being said, however, Dell was still confident he could win.
The thing about hiding behind sentry nests was that you didn't expect an attack from behind and weren't prepared for when you were taking damage yourself. The Grey had chosen a decent location alright, but Dell knew the limitations of the sentry and the rookie had made a fatal mistake: he'd sandwiched himself between his sentry and the dispenser. It was a simple case to peek out just enough to aim without being shot at himself and pester the enemy Engineer with bullets. The foe would duck or otherwise try to avoid the shots and hide by the dispenser, allowing his wounds to heal. It was just a matter of darting from cover to cover, dropping down mini-sentries for the sentry to fire at instead of himself.
Sure enough, eventually he was in position and was able to get behind the nest. The Grey had not seen where Dell had vanished off to now and so long as the former BLU kept low, the dispenser would block the sentry's line of sight to him. Frontier Justice in hand, he squatted down by the back of the nest and breathed deeply, preparing himself. His counterpart heard and readied his own shotgun, when Dell suddenly popped up from behind the dispenser. This shocked the other Engineer, but before he could give a shot, Dell dropped behind another mini-sentry (his armour's massive metal supply sure was useful!) and dove for cover once more.
This time however, when the sentry swivelled around to face the target and fire, it was the Grey Engineer who received the punishment, the man standing in the way of the powerful, precision-aimed gatling turrets and mounted rocket launchers. Needless to say, the grey buildings took some serious damage and quickly became stained in red. The mini-sentry tore the dispenser apart, making itself visible to its larger cousin. The two exchanged bullets whilst Dell came charging in over the rock he'd leapt behind.
No sooner had the mini-sentry been destroyed, he activated his overdrive and blasted the sentry, not yet locked onto him, to pieces, ignoring what few bullets had been fired off in his direction before the level three sentry was destroyed. He skidded to a stop, not willing to admit just how many near-misses there had been earlier and trying not to inhale the fumes from the wreckage as the Frontier Justice's glowing finally stopped.
"A real Texan woulda dodged that..."
###
Nils was very curious about this whole affair and was more than just a little fascinated. Here there was definite proof and perhaps clues as to this whole mess: why were the mercenaries from the RED and BLU teams (and this grey-clad bunch) near enough identical and why had it taken so long for this to become obvious?
And here he had a copy of himself, as best he could tell. The more sadistic part of him longed to cut this man up, to enjoy a proper "examination" like the old days all whilst another part of him longed to take this copy as a test subject, to be able to examine what was effectively his own body like he'd never been able to do. But alas...this mute Medic merely stood with syringe gun in hand and Nils knew full well that his team would be needing him to keep them alive after these little mirror battles. It was vital that he deal with this replica as swiftly as possible.
The German may have been fighting alone and without the utility of his Übercharge, but this doctor did indeed know how to fight. He would not lose to this Grey Medic and he would not tarry a moment longer! Bringing his Blutsauger up, he began unleashing his torrent of health-draining (and recently poisoned) needles, strafing from side to side as he dodged his foe's own stream.
...it was almost too easy. Whilst little in the way of emotion had ever shown itself on his enemy's face, the frantic panic was still all too clear in his movements and poor aim. It had taken Nils a long time to become competent at fending for himself and the knowledge of how essential he was to his team's survival when with BLU had taught him to dodge and use cover very quickly. Whilst this Grey counterpart certainly was better than he'd been during the early days, he clearly didn't know what he was doing and he had difficulty in utilising the syringe gun. The weapon required good aim, tracking and prediction skills to use effectively.
In all honesty, the mirror mercenary had never stood a chance.
Dusting off his labcoat and pulling out any stray syringes that had embedded themselves into him, the Medic turned his back on the still intact corpse without looking back. He had more important things to deal with, for instance, the cry for him that could have only come from a certain Russian...
###
Jack was no stranger to Sniper battles, it had been quite common for himself and his RED counterpart to almost end up forgetting the other priority targets and end up sniping only each other. A friendly rivalry of sorts had developed and as such, the Australian certainly knew how to counter-snipe pretty damn well by now. As much as he sensed the constant danger and as much as he knew it was quite unprofessional of him, he couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement, of anticipation.
Unlike most of the others, he was using his stock weapon, as was the Grey counterpart. No doubt there'd be some minor differences between them, his trusty rifle was certainly well-used, but apart from that they were on equal footing. He'd decided not to turn to his other weapons unless it was completely necessary, but somehow he doubted that. His foe was another Sniper after all, and at the range they preferred to work at, their rifles would be best.
He couldn't help but notice every little thing, the sounds of the others' battles, the slow dripping of sweat down his forehead, the electricity in the air he could taste on his tongue, the shadows and cover that could held danger...
In this showdown there would be no worn-out conflicts, no exchanging of blows, no dramatic close-range confrontations. There was only the slow, cautious moving, the thrill of simultaneously being both the hunter and the hunted. A single shot to the head was all it took, and all he'd be going for. All the skill, all the battle experience, all the caution in the world, the best spot, the best reflexes...it'd be for naught if the Grey Sniper could get a single good bead on his head.
As such, getting the first shot was pretty much essential. That being said, if the shot was took and either missed or was non-fatal, well...Jack would give his position away and might possibly lose his head before he even had the chance to go for cover or reload. The battle would likely come down to who would shoot first and whether that shot was true or not.
They both had a good idea of where the other was and the former BLU was near certain that he'd narrowed down the specific spot his foe was hiding at. Still, even as he looked through his scope at where he thought the other assassin was, he kept his wits about him. God knows how many times he'd died due to not paying enough attention to his surroundings. Only if he messed up this time...he wouldn't be coming back, and there'd be nobody to protect the team from the Sniper.
The question was...who'd lose their nerve and reveal themselves first?
It was only the slightest rustle carried over to his keen ears by the gentle wind from afar and it may have only been his imagination, but all the same, Jack felt the shock through his spine and let instincts hold, quickly sidestepping to one side as a crack thundered out over the area and a high-calibre, high-velocity round implanted itself in the ground a little behind where he had been standing. Instantly and with barely a thought, his rifle swivelled to face the location the sound had come from. Scope to his eye, it no longer mattered that he'd been wrong about his enemy's location and that it had nearly cost his life.
All that mattered...
He quickly sought out and located the Grey mercenary, who was looking hurried, trying to get out of his line of sight.
All that mattered...
But he was too slow and in what felt like an eternity but was closer to an instant, the shot had been lined up and the trigger was pressed.
All that mattered...
Another boom, identical to the previous one, but this bullet met its mark, the target's head exploding in a shower of skin and eyes and blood and bone.
All that mattered was the kill.
Jack took off his hat, holding it to his chest, observing a moment's silence for his fellow professional.
###
Gabriel, in a way, pitied the others. Their little duels would no doubt be filled with much pain and violence. His, however, was more a battle of wits, of deception, of cunning. Whilst such a battle could potentially go on for quite some time and prove to be most frustrating, the Spy wasn't in the mood for any of that nonsense.
He'd been expecting the chaos; he'd been expecting that everyone would go their separate ways amidst the gunfire and explosions, and that the duels would either begin with some distance away from the others, or in some cases, considerable distance. This was not to be for his little battle. His Grey foe, handsome as he was, appeared to be quite the fool, arrogant and so assured of his victory.
Indeed, part of the Frenchman mused, this Spy was much like himself when younger. Some might argue that he was still like this now, but age and experience had tempered the arrogance with a slight tinge of knowledge and wisdom. It was the difference between thinking yourself the very best and knowing yourself to be amongst the best. The difference may not sound like much, but it made a world of difference.
And so Gabriel had been able to track his Grey-clad mirror, even through the chaos, even as his cloaked prey slipped through other battles, even as he slowly tried to double back on himself, use disguises, distractions and cover to lead the former BLU Spy astray. But the masked man was having none of it and wouldn't let this amateur drag him to some secluded area to play this little game for the rest of the day. No, he would end this here and now if he had to.
Utilising his Omniwatch and being much more careful with his footsteps than his enemy had (no doubt the fool though the sounds of battle would mask his steps, but to a trained ear, the sound could still be detected). He approached the tree he was certain his counterpart was waiting by and without warning, kicked up dust and dirt into the air, temporarily causing a grey cloak to flicker. Instantly, Gabriel was there with his Ambassador on the rookie agent's head, whispering a request for full cooperation.
Spooked at being so easily discovered and having his plans disrupted, the Grey Spy did the first thing he could think of and shot wildly with his revolver, the last few shots being somewhat more dignified and controlled, the holes in the head and body of the former BLU making the Spy's fate all too clear. Such a shame he'd had to kill the target so soon...
Or that is what the mercenary would have thought had it not been for the sudden sound of decloaking behind him and the fading away of the corpse in front of him. Once more he felt a gun by his head, only this time his weapon had been stolen from his grasp before he could react and Gabriel's other arm held him tightly, preventing further movement or escape.
The experienced Spy did all he could to keep the pressure on, to inspire unholy fear into this fool, to pull secrets from his lips, but all his best efforts were met with mere silence. Knowing a lost cause when he saw one, Gabriel admitted that it was entirely possible that his foe was trained well to not talk, or was indeed mute. A quick precision stab to the spine ended the problem and the Frenchman found himself inspecting the body afterwards for two reasons:
Firstly, he had to confirm that this was not a decoy created by the Dead Ringer or similar. He was paranoid by nature and wouldn't be surprised if being caught so easily was part of a bigger act. It was both relieving and disappointing when the corpse turned out to be genuine.
Secondly...he really needed a smoke and if he had to loot a corpse to get one, he was goddamn willing by this point!
###
A mysterious man seemingly hailing from Britain comes bearing mirrors, enticing the mercenaries to fight their off-coloured reflections.
The same man disrupts the balance further, claiming to be the tenth class, seemingly holding knowledge of this war and similar ones before it, his past no doubt bearing answers the team needs.
It is this so-called "Gentleman" who finds himself confronting the Crimson Demon himself. When man meets monster, what outcome could there be? When the mirrors are shattered around them, which of the two is revealed as the real monster?
Somewhere beyond the realm of war, eight former mercenaries look on with pride as their old rivals continue to become stronger...
Author notes: Apologies for the terrible cliffhanger and wildly different lengths for each class battle, this was pretty much the only place I could cut this chapter and it was plenty long enough as it is. Consider the relatively quick release of these last two chapters as a sorry for the time periods without updates and as a big, big thank you for all the support and reviews! As of the time of writing, I'm at 99 reviews, something I didn't think I'd reach ever with my first fic, let alone in less than a year. Nor did I imagine that I'd get this far and actually continue writing.
So...seriously, thank you. Thanks to you who gave criticism, to you who told me what you loved, to those who pushed me forwards, to those who corrected my mistakes and to every reader for encouraging me to come this far. Expect the next update to be in a week or so.