Something pounded beneath his skull. A painful, throbbing rhythm that felt closer to someone taking a hammer to the back of his head. Like a church bell announcing the morning mass, the chimes couldn't easily be ignored. Even harder to ignore were the frantic, feminine words flung his way.

"-P, get up!" The sounds pierced into his tender skull as white spots danced in his vision. He clamped his eyes shut to the noise as quiet, husky sounds of displeasure slipped through his chapped lips.

Exhaustion clung to him. So badly he wanted to drift away, for just a moment longer. Anything to truly feel recharged and energized for a new day. It all hurt.

Everything hurt. Clamping his hands over his ears did little to stop the deafening noises that, while minor, drilled behind his eyes like a mining expedition. Goosebumps ravaged his skin, and every small motion that caused friction with his clothes and the covers, would rub him raw and sore. Sore like his throat, which felt more akin to a dustbowl than a part of his body. It itched.

It all itched.

"We don't have time for this, Scout!" His shoulder was roughly shaken. Scout groaned again, using the covers to block out the world. He heard a sigh before the covers were ripped off, forcing the tired and cowering man to lay witness to the overhead light. "You are not staying in my apartment, and I have to be somewhere else in less than an hour so surprise, surprise, you're waking up when I wake up!" He finally blinked his eyes opened. They watered from the bright onslaught and from the lack of proper rest.

Before him stood Miss Pauling, tying up her hair and already dressed in her purple attire, ready to start the day at…

"Wh' time is it?" Scout asked, shielding his eyes from the ceiling lamp. As he cleared the dust from his throat, Miss Pauling finished tying her hair and grabbed his shoulder again, pulling him to sit up.

"It's six twenty, and yes, I know, it's early. Welcome to my life."

She sounded exacerbated. Probably upset at him for sleeping in. And from how the blankets were tangled around his legs, from hogging her own covers and mattress.

"Sorry," he rasped, letting his head fall into the palms of his hands. Its pounding drummed against his fingers; parallel to a pulse but didn't have that same positive connection.

"No, don't apologize, I offered to stay, this is on me," Scout heard her sigh as she walked some distance away. When he managed to lift his head, he spotted her watering her plants, seeming to measure every small droplet that fell. "But you seriously need to get up and grab your things, I really do need to leave soon."

Nodding, Scout grabbed the edges of the bed. His arms trembled as he pushed himself up, and as he stood, that all-too-familiar tension began to build in his limbs. All four of them.

No, not happening. Not now, not in front of her! Trying to subtly kneed the budding cramps away, Scout limped towards where he put his duffel bag, which happened to be thrown in the corner of the room.

Typically he would just toss any used clothing on the floor for future Scout to deal with. But this wasn't his place, and he wasn't staying overnight again, or so he assumed. So he tentatively picked it up, rummaging through the few things he brought with him. Picking out a white shirt, some cargo pants, and the aviators he always wore, the runner dragged himself into the small bathroom to change.

After closing the door behind him, Scout began the slow and uncomfortable process of taking his improv pjs off. He had to have caught something overnight, because every time his cotton shirt rubbed against his stomach or arms, it felt like a thousand blisters were forming. It itched horribly, and everything just pointed to him experiencing the start of a nasty cold. Or the flu.

Finally the battle was over, and a new one began as he slipped on his daytime clothes. Once he did, Scout plopped himself down on the small toilet, resting his head in his hands again. Surely Miss Pauling had some headache medicine, right?

As he waited for the pounding to clear, he took a small look around the bathroom again. If he stood right in the middle and spread his arms out, he could touch the walls without issue. Such a tight space. The whole flat felt tight and unwelcoming. Sterile and callous. He thought it felt like a dentist office before. Now, he knew it was more akin to a laboratory.

With the cold white colors and lack of any stimuli, it truly did feel like that place again. That horrible, horrible place, with those vile people and dissection tables with those straps and chains that cut into him, keeping him from escaping as they would crowd around with the scalpels and bonesaws and syringes filled with-

A knock snapped Scout out of his thoughts, and before he could recall what he was thinking about, Miss Pauling's voice called through the door.

"Are you decent?" She asked. "We really need to get going."

"If you mean I'm not buck-*ss naked, then yeah," he replied, but not without some trouble. He really needed a pill or something to get his head to stop killing itself.

"...Scout?"

He didn't respond as he was now focused on fighting back the horrible cramps tearing up his arms. Kneading them didn't do much, but it was all he could do to get his twisting muscles to stop twisting and tangling together. The sound of the door opening stole his attention for a moment, and looking up, Scout spotted Miss Pauling peeking in.

"Are you okay?" She asked, a confused look written plainly on her face. He started to nod, stopped, looked back down at his tangled up arms, and shook his head.

"Think I caught somethin'."

"Oh, great," Miss Pauling groaned, which only made him feel worse. "Wait right there." She closed the door as Scout tried standing, but at her request and his own fatigue, he stayed sitting.

Making a mental note to ask Medic for something once he got back, Scout continued to kneed his limbs, a rapidfire trail of curses blazing in his mind. He was making himself look like an idiot right after spending the night at his girl's place. What kind of luck did he have that was screwing him over so badly?

Did Merasmus curse him or something on Halloween? He thought those didn't last after October. It would explain a lot. Making another mental note to ask Soldier if Merasmus made any curses towards them recently, Scout's thoughts were once again cut off as Miss Pauling returned, her hands full of pill bottles and cold medicine.

"Holy crap, that's a lot," he croaked, his voice sounding closer to nails on a chalkboard than his normal smoky and seductive tone. "Do you eat that stuff for breakfast or somethin'?"

"You'd be surprised," Miss Pauling replied, placing the bottles down and lining them up before turning to him. "Now, what symptoms are you feeling?"

"Uh-"

"I've got stuff for headaches, nasal congestions, iron supplements, sleep deprivation, more sleep deprivation, colds, open lesions, cold sores, blisters-"

"Headaches, headaches, s**t, just gimme the one for headaches!" She tossed him the biggest bottle and Scout wasted no time popping it open. He poured three into his hand and downed them dry, which wasn't the brightest idea in hindsight as his sore throat flared up once he swallowed.

A small glass of water was handed to him, and took it without hesitation and down it all in one go. And in less than a second, his headache and sore throat were doused. The noises, what little there were, didn't beat themselves into his eardrums and instead were just the background sounds of an early morning apartment. Even his skin didn't itch quite so badly.

"Holy crap, that stuff's quick," he muttered, getting to his feet at least as the cramps subsided. "Where the h*ll did you get something like that?"

"It's custom made," Miss Pauling replied, gathering up the medications as Scout packed up the few things belonging to him in the cramped bathroom. She trotted out and he followed quickly behind, still stretching himself out to fade the remaining soreness away. "You probably know by whom."

"Medic?"

"Medic."

Scout zipped up his duffel bag and dashed over to his sneakers, grabbing them as Miss Pauling grabbed his coat and tossed it his way. He slipped it on and let himself get pulled out the apartment and heard the door be locked behind him.

"Wait, you're actually not havin' anythin' to eat?"

"I never have the time and eating when I wake up makes me feel awful so I never do," Miss Pauling replied, stuffing the key into her small purse she brought and took his hand again. "Now come on, there's just enough time to get you back to the base before I have to go."

"Oh, ri-"

She wasted no time in dragging him with her through the hall, down the stairs, and out the small complex. A chill hung in the air, and with the sun just beginning to hint it's existence, the sky was dull blue filled with clouds. Last night's rain had left the street they crossed coated in moisture and gleaming under the streetlamps.

Reaching the teleporter and making sure no one had been watching, Miss Pauling gestured to the glowing purple device.

"Gents' first."

"Man, what a doll," Scout playfully sneered, hopping onto the teleporter. The shed and Miss Pauling spun at a speed that bleed the colors together, and the next thing he knew he was flung a thousand times faster than the speed of light at a molecular level.

A flash of purple enveloped his eyesight as Scout stumbled and fell onto the cave floor. He was never getting used to teleporters, never ever. As he picked himself up, shaking the dizziness out of his head, Miss Pauling appeared in a flash of lilac, and she daintly stepped off.

"You really have trouble with these, don't you?" It sounded more like a statement, and Scout merely nodded as he helped her pack up the teleporter.

"Told ya yesterday," he muttered as they heaved the machine into her moped's pannier, "I don't do well with teleporters. They feel way too fast."

"Now that is ironic," Miss Pauling mused as she fastened her helmet from the handles and fastened it on. "You think something's too fast for you. You. The Scout."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, something's faster than me."

"There's a lot that's faster than you."

"And more than half of those ain't even human so what's your point?" He asked, hopping on the purple moped with her after they pulled the vehicle out into the dark open.

"Demo can get faster; I've seen him do it."

"Okay, look, he can only do it in bursts, okay!?" Scout argued. "The guy's a natural sprinter! And he can only do it with a sword, what's up with that? Bet he has a spell or magic charm helpin' him do it."

"It's called alcoholism!" Miss Pauling said. The sheer enthusiasm she had in saying got Scout to burst out laughing as they began to drive back to the base.

"Yeah, that's gotta be it, that drunk tosser!" He chuckled, then sighed. "But yeah, I'm still the ace when it comes to speed. There ain't a single other person who gets The Rush like I can."

"The what?"

"It's like, uh…" Scout began. How could he explain the feeling? He's tried several times with different people but it never went anywhere.

"It's like… like when you go over the speed limit, kinda, that adrenaline rush of breakin' the rules and also goin' super fast. Kinda. It's hard to explain."

"We've got time," Miss Pauling shouted over the roaring winds. That they did. And the speed.

"It's like right now," Scout said, raising his voice over the engine and muffler. "Right now, like the wind in our hair, and the cold, and look! The sun's peekin' out now!" Sure enough, towards the east the slimmest line of golden light shone over the far distance. "It's this. It's this right now!" But not there yet. No, they had yet to feel the world blend into something untamable. Untapped and powerful.

"What are you doing!?" Miss Pauling shouted as her hands were soon joined by Scout's on the handlebars.

"I'm goin' to show you what goin' fast really feels like."

"I already know what that- SCOUT!" Below them the engine roared, the wheels dug themselves into the sand and rushed forwards. The force shot the pair back with Miss Pauling ending up pinned against Scout's chest. Meanwhile he leaned forward to tighten his grip on the now unleashed mechanical steed they sat upon. "Scout, quit it! You're goin' to crash us!"

"Like I'd pull somethin' like that with someone like you!" he shouted over the ravage roars of the purple scooter that fought against his ironclad grip.

"I'm serious, you're going to-"

"Just trust me for this, okay?" Scout urged, quickly locking eyes with his companion. "Do you really think I'd let you get hurt?" She just stared at him with that cutthroat glare, searching into his psyche for any lie or falsehood. But there was nothing, and Scout felt her white-knuckled grasp on the handles loosen.

"Fine." Miss Pauling said tersely. "But one scratch on my moped and I swear-" her threat was cut off by the sudden burst of speed Scout ignited.

They were like a pair of scissors slicing the desert in two, the moped cutting a deep canyon into the winter sands. Wind soon filled their ears and nipped at any exposed flesh which would be far more effective had their adrenaline not been so strong.

Miss Pauling was very much either excited or terrified as he could feel her heart beating out of her chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder in order to see, and before them the endless sea of sand continued to fly by.

The moped still bucked and kicked against his control, but with such important cargo, there wasn't a chance in h*ll he'd just hand the machine its own reins. Now, after nearly flying for some minutes, it all felt familiar, and the adrenaline no longer flooded his veins. Even Miss Pauling's pulse had calmed down.

It was nice. It's been a while since he'd gone this fast, and with someone else. The last time someone ever ran with him had been-

Had been…

Scout's brow furrowed in confusion. No, that can't be right, the last time was with Sniper, not…

Not himself.

But the more he thought, the more the image became clearer. He'd been running, leaping, thrusting himself off every branch and log to get closer to that faint blue blur ahead, deep in the treeline.

The…

The treeline?

"SCOUT!"

"Huh!?"

His first instincts were to slam the brakes. Knowing how that was a stupid idea, Scout forced his hand to let go of the accelerator. Now that they weren't constantly speeding up, he could start to slow down. And a good thing he did. Not two hundred feet away was the base. Confusion flooded his mind. How had he not seen that? What distracted him so badly he couldn't see something so freakin' big!?

"Alright, so, you are never doing that again." Miss Pauling stated as they finally came to a stop by the sole road in and out of the small ghost town base.

"I- ****, I'm sorry, I got- I got distracted-"

"By what!?" She said, whipping her head around to stare him dead in the eye, a near deranged expression on her pale face. Scout stammered something as he stumbled off the moped, wringing the strap of his bag in his hands.

"By- I don't even frea- I don't remember, it was right there, but I-"

"Okay, look, I have to go-"

"Sorry, I swear I'm not, I'm not makin' things hard for you on purpose!" He blurted out. Miss Pauling paused. "I just- I just don't want you regrettin' actually givin' me a chance…"

A dense silence fell on the pair, and with each passing second Scout wanted to be buried alive more and more.

"Look," Scout started, his mouth acting on autopilot when the silence got too loud, "you gotta go, and I shouldn't keep you waiting, cause you got important crap and I shouldn't have done that whole "take control of your moped" thing-"

Miss Pauling shut him up by grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him into a kiss. The shock took an eraser to any remaining thoughts as he practically melted on the spot. After a second, she pushed him away, jabbing into his chest.

"Firstly, shut up."

He shut up.

"Secondly, don't do anything like that again unless I agree to it beforehand. Got it?"

He nodded.

"And thirdly, you're sleeping here tonight, and when you do get to come over again, you're sleeping on the couch."

"Aw, c'mon!"

"No. You got sick because of it, and I can't afford to get sick either. And it's payback for the scare you gave me not two minutes ago!"

Scout slumped, but managed a nod. "That's fair, yeah… 'M sorry…"

"Oh stop apologizing," Miss Pauling demanded as she grabbed him again, this time planting a soft peck on his cheek, earning a smile from the droopy runner. "Alright, now I have to go. See you later."

"See ya later!" Scout called after her as she drove off. "I love you!" Miss Pauling didn't stop to look, but she gave a small wave after his shout.

Scout gave a lovestruck sigh as he watched Miss Pauling fade into the distant road before turning to look at the base with disdain. Chances were his team hadn't forgotten what he'd said last night to them, which meant that unless he apologized first and foremost, today would be even worse than it already was.

D*mn, he was already tired of apologizing.

He dragged his feet when walking to the main entrance, grumbling under his breath about how crumby the morning was. The early morning chill settled in the sandy dirt cracked under his feet like old leaves, and his jacket did little to keep the cold at bay. Whatever. Just whatever, it's not like it won't get warmer, they were in the middle of a desert anyway.

Grabbing the door's handle, Scout quietly opened it and slipped inside. The familiar scents and sounds of the base met him warmly. It was almost seven in the morning, so not many of the base's occupants would be awake yet. At least, he didn't think they would. He wished he wasn't, at least then he could sleep off this stupid headache.

Scout let his feet carry him to the base's kitchen, running solely on autopilot. He could use a drink of anything. Stumbling into the room, Scout scanned the area for anyone around.

At the dining table sat Soldier, wearing a wifebeater and hopefully pants, and eating charred toast that sounded more like a brick whenever he took a bite. He looked like he was doing a crossword puzzle, glaring down at the newspaper through his helmet he always wore. As the patriot didn't look up when Scout entered, he assumed Soldier didn't notice him, and continued towards the cupboards for food and drink.

Inside the fridge was nothing of note besides some of Heavy's sandwiches, and while Scout wanted to knock all of them on the floor to spite the Russian, he knew that would end in his head being crushed, so he let them be. Instead, he grabbed a cool water bottle and ripped it open.

"I need a synonym for 'Amazed' that starts with "A"."

Scout froze, nearly choking on his water as he snapped around to find Soldier still staring at the crossword.

"Uh-"

"It's nine letters," Soldier continued, tapping the pen he was using to his helmet in thought. "Any ideas, private?" Scout looked around, as if there could be someone else Soldier was referring to. When no one magically appeared, Scout audibly groaned, massaging his temple.

"Dude, Soldier, I don't…" a small itch started at the back of his head. "...It's "Awestruck"; that's the word you're looking for." Soldier began scribbling away, unaware of the confusion now engulfing his youngest teammate. Scout ran a hand through his hair to scratch his scalp, completely bewildered.

How the heck did he figure that out so quickly? Spelling was his least good trait(that he was willing to admit, at least), and was awestruck nine letters? As he counted out the letters, Soldier piped up again.

"You went AWOL last night," the army man stated. Scout paused in his counting, looking back up at his fellow mercenary. Weighing his options, Scout nodded with a defeated slouch.

"Yeah. I left the base. Sorry for, like, whatever little rule we apparently got that says we can't, but yeah-"

"Troops must stick together, Maggot," Soldier cut him off, finally turning himself to look Scout dead in the eye. And though the helmet shielded his actual stare, it didn't dampen the effect. Scout felt himself slouch even more, having already accepted the military-style rant coming his way for his insubordination.

But it never came.

Instead, Soldier turned himself in his chair to face Scout completely, a solemn expression lining his features.

"And our unit should have stuck by your side more."

"...Huh?"

"You heard me," Soldier said sternly, jabbing his finger accusingly at Scout. "We are all serving on this blessed country's frontlines; shedding our blood, sweat, and girly tears for our fellow American brothers and sisters! And that includes you! And me! And everyone else who has freedom COURSING through their veins!"

"Where's this goin'-"

"But when the bombs stop dropping, and the cases stop raining down in a storm of lead, the people we're protecting forget all we sacrifice! Our limbs, our lives, our brothers in arms! They think life has always been this easy-peasy, weak, pansy boat ride, and ignore the soldiers who've lost years serving to build that safety and comfort they take for granted!"

Soldier suddenly stood, knocking his chair over as he strode over to the now submissive Scout, who looked slightly scared. "The debt our countrymen owe to the troops is never paid back! Instead, what are those brave and scarred men and women greeted with? SCORN! MOCKERY! RIDICULE! Or worse: ALIENATION! Alienated by the very people they died to protect!

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, MAGGOT!" Soldier roared at the now cowering Scout, whose skull was doing its best to split itself open.

"Maybe!?" Scout blurted out; he just wanted Soldier to stop bursting his eardrums.

"YOU OUGHT TO!" Soldier shouted, grabbing Scout's shoulders. "Because that's exactly what we've done to YOU!"

The words hung in the air. Scout's need for quiet melted away as bewilderment took its place.

"Yeah, sorry, the heck are you talkin' about?" He sputtered.

"You are those troops, son," Soldier began, his voice at a considerably lower level than before. "And we, God help us, have been acting like hippies!" He shook Scout in emphasis. When Scout didn't respond with a salute or something else appropriately American, Soldier continued.

"Our entire unit would have remained Prisoners of War if it hadn't been for you and that piss-throwing camper! Trapped, at the mercy of the enemy, remembered solely as MIA for the rest of our imprisoned lives. And not only that, but you gave your life to take that d*mn flesh-wearing communist out with you! Your arm was taken, your guts were exploded, and your very life had been used as payment to save ours!"

"Don't remind me, man," Scout mumbled. "I don't like rememberin' how my freakin' guts got exploded."

"We have a debt to repay for your sacrifice," Soldier continued on like he hadn't heard Scout at all. "But if what you said during your girly tantrum last night was the truth, then we have done nothing but act like the hippies of today; bashing and scorning the troops for keeping us safe. Treating you like you aren't one of us, and that you don't belong. Well let me tell you something, son!" Scout was forcibly straightened up, standing at attention like the man still holding his shoulders in an iron grip. "You are the most scrawny, runtish, small and downright weak combatant I've ever seen!" With each word Soldier japped a stiff finger into Scout's chest to the point of making a bruise. "But, you are also the most selfless and brave soldier I've fought alongside, and if our men continue to ignore that, then I swear on Roosevelt's bull moose stache, I WILL RAM MY FOOT SO FAR UP THEIR *SSES THAT THEY'LL BE USING MY SHOE POLISH AS TOOTHPASTE! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR, PRIVATE!?"

Scout nodded.

"I said, do I make myself clear!?"

"Yes sir," Scout replied, rubbing the forming bruise on his chest, the pain still pulsating beneath his shirt.

"Good, and with that said, while you flagrantly disobeyed direct orders when those tin cans first ambushed us…" Soldier now looked conflicted more than the anger from before. "...You did it with selfless intentions. Which doesn't excuse your actions, but… But I, and our men, should have kept that in mind. But, Respawn was still destroyed, and dying anytime we're not fighting those metal is permanent. But you were able to bring back Sniper…" The man's face was now a beet red, and Scout instinctively tried taking a step back only for his back to hit the kitchen counter. Soldier still just looked conflicted, so he wouldn't explode in rage(hopefully), but he still looked ready to explode, so Scout cut into the man's thoughts before they overheated.

"Are you… are you tryin' to apologize to me?"

"Maybe?"

Scout stared at the man. Then he poked his arm.

"You ain't a spy, right?"

"THERE'S A SPY IN THE BASE!?"

"I don't-" Scout couldn't finish before his face collided with the linoleum floor, shades flying from his head. Something cracked beneath his skin, pain exploding in his nose as Soldier pushed him down.

"Stay low! They could be anywhere! Waiting!" Soldier stood up, and somehow got a shotgun as Scout heard the crisp pumping of an empty shell ejecting. "Stay behind cover, son. I'll sweep the base. Those croutons never should have set foot in The States if they valued their lives!" The man's voice grew softer along with his heavyset footsteps, setting off through the base to look for spies.

Scout just lay there on the cool tiled floor, unsure if the headache he felt was from the broken nose, from before, or that his mind was working overtime to reason what had just happened.

Soldier had apologized. To him. Scout. Scout, of all people. Soldier, the one man on this planet who might be more stubborn than himself, apologized. Well, got as close to apologizing as a man like Soldier could get.

For most, it might feel encouraging. For Scout, it left him freaked out.

Hardly anyone ever seemed to suck up their pride enough to admit that Scout might have a point, and he could count on one hand the amount of people who sucked up their pride enough to give an audible, authentic "I'm sorry" to him.

Why now? Because he got grumpy and stir crazy so badly that the guys didn't hold it against him? Or was it just Soldier?

Scout forced himself to sit up, shaking off the lightheadedness and wiping his still bleeding nose. A smeared stain of blood coated the tiles, and Scout knew if he didn't clean it up, someone would get antsy, or slip. Maybe if he left it a certain Russian would slip and break his stupid fat *ss from the fall. Would serve him right after last night.

Anger flared in his head, swirling and mixing with the pounding of his skull and the searing pain of his broken nose. It hurt. It all hurt. Hurt in a way that was all too familiar.

But there was no one to take his violent wrath out on right now. And Soldier had a point. Respawn was only reliable during their battles. He just had to wait until the hurt went away.

Scout, after swiping up the fallen aviators, grabbed the nearest surface and pulled himself to his feet, eyes watering from what felt like someone taking a sledgehammer to his face. Avoiding his own bloody mess, the runner shuffled out the room to find either a medkit or Medic, scratching his arm.

The sunlight finally entered through the dusty panes, reflecting off the hundreds of thousands of dust particles suspended in the hall. As he dragged his aching body through the narrow passageway, Scout began to think. Like he could do anything else right now.

The morning had been strange, stranger than usual. Way too strange for him not to ask questions. Questions like why did he wake up with cramps again, and why did the headache come back so quickly? And why did he have one anyway, what caused it? Thinking back to last night he hadn't had any alcohol so this couldn't be a hangover. He probably did catch something though he couldn't figure out what.

And why did Soldier say all of that? Something like that doesn't come out of a guy like Soldier without some prompting, right? So who would've convinced him to say all that? Was it all a joke? A prank? If that's the case someone was going to die tonight!

But that didn't line up with Soldier threatening to beat everyone's *sses, and admitting to acting like "a hippie". Soldier would never joke about something like that, so that had to be genuine. But why him? Why not the others?

Well, maybe the guys felt the same and since Scout met Soldier first he was the first to say all that stuff. Maybe. But if there was one person on this base who Scout wanted to hear it from, it was Heavy.

Even the thought of the man sent Scout's blood boiling. What did he even do to make the big guy so cranky? He hadn't taken any sandwiches, or insulted him. Was it because Medic wouldn't get off his *ss? Well, that would be stupid, Scout wasn't asking the doc to help or constantly stick by his side during the battles, Medic just did lately!

But it hadn't just been yesterday, or the day before. No, Heavy didn't hide how he felt about Scout coming back. The first time the pair met eyes after Heavy had been freed from those cocoons, what had the man said?

What did he call him?

Disturbing.

Heavy hadn't even called Scout a "he", he'd been reduced to an "it". An "it"! A monster! How did Scout forget for so long? The image in his mind was so clear now, so concrete. The disgusted look on Heavy's face, gaunt from the month imprisoned in those numbing, crystalline webs. That harsh glare one would have while looking at a writhing mass of parasitic worms…

But it hadn't been just Heavy, had it?

No. Everyone had that look to them when they all reunited after so long apart, after Scout thought them dead.

They all hated him.

…

No, that's not true- but it feels like it!- It's not.

The runner came to a pause, fists clenched by his sides. Not a single sound was heard from the young man, nor from the slumbering base, unaware of the wrathful hurricane of memories raging through his mind.

It took several minutes for Scout to calm himself down, and several more to unroot himself from the spot in the hall. His nose had finally stemmed its bleeding, his shirt acting as a gauze to catch the liquid. It felt sticky.

His head hurt again.

Forcing himself to continue walking, Scout tried to ignore the thoughts and emotions still coursing through his veins. Different parts of him wanted different things. He wanted to kill them for what they did, he wanted to know what they did that was making him so bloodthirsty, he wanted something to eat, he wanted to know why they all hated him, what did he do, hadn't he apologized enough, what more could he do he'd done so much his life had been taken they had taken his life themselves but that couldn't be true because he was killed while killing The Counterfeit he had felt his ribs be crushed and lungs punctured but he could remember how their bullets pierced through his muscle and flesh and the flames yes the flames he was burnt burntandbrokenandruinedhehadn'taskedtobemadeandallhegotinreturnwastorturetorturethisistorturewhydidyoubringmebackifyouhatedmesomuchwhyamIstuckheredidyoueventhinkabouthowIwouldbebroughtbackwithhimwithmeletmeoutofhereletmedieorsomethinganythingIdon'twanttobeherewiththesemonstersthey'rejustgoingtohurtmeagainhurtushurtandburn

"Scout?"

Demo's voice came like an electric shock, jolting Scout out from his…

What was he thinking about? Like a dream, it was right there, he knew he'd been thinking about something important, right? But he couldn't-

"Scout."

"Huh?" His voice was thick and nasally. Demo stood directly to his upper left, staring at him with worry written plainly on his tired face, no doubt on his way to get some grub. Or drink.

"Bloody h*ll, mate, who'd you lose a fight with?" Demo asked, gesturing to the red mess that was Scout's shirt.

"Da kidchen floor," Scout replied, instinctively wiping his nose, which only irritated it more. Demo let out a quick chuckle, though worry still shone through his eye. "Yeah, so, make sure you don'd slip on da blood when you go in dere, I didn'd clean id up yed."

"Righto, yeah, thanks for the warning."

Scout gave a nod and began his trip to the Infirmary again before pausing and turning to Demo again.

"Hey, lader doday do you wanna hang out wid me? Sure dere's somedin' we can do do pass da dime."

"...Ah, no, I've got… plans, yeah, with some of the others, yeah," Demo replied, rubbing the back of his neck with an uncomfortable look to him. "Can't miss them. But you have a good day, aye?"

Scout looked the cyclops up and down before shrugging and walking off, scratching his wrist. Demo watched him go before shaking his head with a chilled expression.

"Strange tides we're sailing lately…"

Normally, when Scout had some form of injury, whether inflicted during battle that hadn't been healed yet or he'd brought upon himself due to a sweet stunt he almost got down, he would just burst into the Infirmary without warning, because he was injured and didn't have time for silly things like knocking.

Needless to say, Scout often found himself as an unwilling witness to whatever sick experiment Medic would be found doing, and as the unwilling recipient to a German-laced rant by said Medic. But today, standing before the double doors, Scout did not want a rant and did not want to see something he'd have nightmares about. Today was abnormal enough and he just wanted to feel normal.

So, Scout raised his fist and lightly rapped on the doors, and was immediately startled by the furious shouts of their neighborhood doctor.

"NOT NOW; GO FIND A MEDKIT!" The man's muffled words were laced with frustration. The kind that Medic only had when he'd been staying up and working on something that just wouldn't work. Well, he wasn't the only one here feeling so terribly. Scout knocked again, this time speaking up too.

"Id's me, Doc! Could ya he-" Right after the first sentence Scout had to step back as the Infirmary doors swung open, revealing a frazzled, disheveled Medic.

"What, what is it?" The German's fury had been replaced with a fast-paced concern. His wide, sleepless eyes grew even wider when Scout's blood-stained self sunk in. Scout just gestured to himself to answer Medic's question. Medic blinked, then gave a short nod.

"Wait there," Medic's head disappeared back into the Infirmary, the doors slamming shut. From within, Scout could hear the muffled clinking of metal and papers being shoved into drawers. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, ignoring the growing pain in the center of his face and forcing himself to not wipe his nose. Soon enough, the doors opened once more, Medic holding them open and gesturing for Scout to enter.

"So, how did you manage to break your nose before eight in the morning?" Medic asked.

"Soldier shoved me indo da kidchen floor," Scout said, fighting to keep his voice steady as Medic examined his very-much-broken nose. He sat on an examination table, the cold metal stinging his skin, reminding him all too much of how he felt waking up. Looking around, he noticed a distinct lack of doves around.

"Any particular reason why Soldier would do that?" Medic droned, an almost accusatory tone in his voice.

"He was acdin' weird and when I asked if he was a spy, he doughd I saw a spy and dold me do ged down. He's probably sdill lookin' for one."

"I see." The doctor straightened up and reached up for his suspended Medigun, fiddling with the dials and switches before turning it on the runner.

The red wafting tendrils seeped into Scout's skin, and that familiar coolness covered up and stitched his injuries back to normal. He leaned into the feeling, an easy smile lighting up his face. But before long, the medibeams were gone, and Scout fell back to earth, with all the aches and itchiness from before.

"Well, if that's all, I'd ask that you leave," Medic noted, stepping away from his Medigun as Scout felt his newly healed nose. "I'm quite behind on some medical trials and unless you'd like to see a dissection of a mutated rat, I'm not in the mood for volunteers at the moment."

"Waitwaitwait! That ain't all, it ain't all!" Scout blurted out, catching Medic's attention. The doctor stared him up and down with that skeptical glare. But he pulled up a chair and gestured for Scout to continue, and he did. "I've been, like, I been feelin' real weird the last couple days."

"Weird how?" Medic asked as he grabbed a clipboard and a pen. Scout watched him do so as a crawling feeling erupted up his spine.

"Weird like, I'm feelin' bad in ways that don't make sense," he began, gripping the table and staring at the leather straps screwed into its surface, "like I've been gettin' cramps in my legs and arms, which doesn't happen cause I stretch a lot, y'know?"

"Muscle cramps can be caused for many reasons, mein friend," Medic replied, his expression falling back into boredom. "A lack of proper rest, for example, or overexertion, lack of minerals and liquids. And I know for a fact that a certain someone has been refusing to take breaks while fighting robots."

"But that's been almost a week since then! Like, yeah, I got some the day after, but that don't explain how I got some this mornin'. I didn't even run or nothin'."

"Our bodies are mysterious and strange, Scout, and each one is a bit different. I once performed an operation on a man who's heart was behind his stomach!"

"Did you put his heart there?"

"That's besides the point, which is to say that while it may seem strange you've been getting cramps, there's a logical reason behind it, and that is most likely you not having a proper diet and pushing your limits too far." Medic jotted something down before turning to the runner once more. "Now, is that all?"

"No," Scout mumbled, scratching his arm. "I've been havin' horrible headaches too."

"Which are typically caused by a lack of proper fluids and stress. Nothing out of the ordinary yet."

"My skin's been super itchy-"

"That would be caused by desert heats and sands getting stuck to you for long periods of time."

"Throat's sore-"

"And based on your other complaints, I'd be well to assume you've caught a small head cold as headaches and irritable skin, while rarer, are symptoms of the flu, or common cold. So really," Medic stood, stretching out his back before giving Scout a reassuring pat on the shoulder, "I believe all the changes to our typical routine have gone to your head. I can give you some cold medicine, but other than that, it's safe to say you're just paranoid."

"But then-" Scout cut himself off, thinking about what Medic said. If what he was saying was true, then everything weird had been just him thinking too hard about stuff. Thinking something was behind it all when it was really just normal occurrences happening quicker than normal.

But then how did that explain the guys? Why was Medic so set on keeping Scout healed and close by? Maybe he noticed Scout getting paranoid so he'll let that one slide. But Heavy couldn't be so reasoned away. The big guy's attitude had been mean and Scout couldn't think of anything besides him noticing Scout's building paranoia. Which didn't feel right but it was all he had to go off of.

So sure, everything could be explained, except why Sniper had been so insistent on keeping an arm's length. The guy was smart, and had a super keen eye, and knew what Scout was like when paranoid so if anyone would tell him off, it was Sniper. But he hadn't said a word about anything, and just kept a little way's off; not enough for others to get suspicious, but just enough for Scout to notice something wasn't right.

And what about his dream-like thoughts; the ones he knew he had but couldn't remember?

"Okay, so I'm just paranoid is all?" Scout asked, fiddling with a leather strap. Medic nodded with a confident smile. "Then how come I keep gettin' these weird memory dream things? Got anything to explain them?"

Medic's smile faltered. "Er- "Memory dream things"? That's rather vague, don't you think?"

"They are vague! I can't remember what they're about but I know I gottem. Like when you know you dreamed-"

"Dreamt."

"Dreamt somethin' last night but can't remember what it was actually about. That's what I've been havin' all mornin'."

"So… you've been experiencing out-of-body experiences?" Medic asked slowly. Scout shook his head, his skull starting to pound again.

"It's like I get sucked in my own head and can't get out of it, but it ain't my own head, cause I've never seen half the stuff I've been seein', or feelin'."

"But you said you can't remember what these experiences are about so how can you be sure?"

"Cause I got that feeling, like once I'm outta them I get super confused, and I wouldn't be confused about them if I knew what they were, right? Like… it's like… y'know, "De-gau voo"?"

"Déjà vu."

"Yeah, that, but like, the opposite too. Cause it feels like I'm seein' and feelin' all a this for the first time, but I'm not? I think? But I swear I've never seen half of what my mind is makin' me think I do, but it don't feel fake or made up and holy s**t it feels like my mind's freakin' meltin' just thinkin' about it." The longer Scout spoke, the more his headache grew until now here he was, sat in the Infirmary, massaging his temples and sounding like a madman.

Maybe he was going mad.

"...it sounds like this is the result of all those radiated sodas you always drink." Medic began, quietly setting down his notes. Turning towards the runner, he gave what appeared like a reassuring smile, but felt uneasy, like the man he had listened to was about to pounce. "Making you see things that don't actually exist."

"I'm bein' serious!" Scout shouted, "and I haven't even had any of those since last week!"

"I'm also being serious, Scout. Do you really think radiation sickness just appears out of the blue. I'm surprised it's taken this long for the symptoms to start showing!"

"So, what, don't tell me I got a freakin' terminal thing or something!"

Medic scoffed. "Oh, please, as if I'd let a near perfectly healthy young male subject die before proper use."

"That ain't makin' me feel any better!" Scout hissed. Medic dismissively waved at him as he walked towards one of his many cabinets. From inside he pulled out several pill bottles and what looked like ointments. Walking back to the runner, he dropped the many items he brought onto Scout's lap. "The h*ll is all this crap for?"

"I'm prescribing all of this for you," Medic answered.

"All of it!?"

"Every last one. This one should help with the itchiness," he held up a bottle of ointment. "These pills are for headaches, and these are for colds. And this bottle is full of magnesium oil, which should help with your cramps. Just be sure to wash you hands after using them, it smells horrid."

"Uh, but what about those weird memory-dream thingies?"

"Well," Medic pulled out a scalpel from nowhere, an evil expression lining his features, "I could cut your head open and play around with your brain. A little brain scooping never hurt anyone!"

"NONOON-NO!" Scout screamed, grabbing Medic's wrist to keep the knife away from his precious brain. "I'll eat all the freakin' pills in the world, just don't cut my bloody skull open again!"

He ran out the Infirmary without a moment's notice, arms filled with the crap Medic gave him, too caught up in fear to see Medic standing there, scalpel held loosely in his hand. The German stared at the still swinging double doors with a disconcerted look.

"...Have I ever… No, not with him. Why was-" he ran a hand down his face. "Nein, konzentriere dich, Jochim. Es kann nicht so schnell sein Gehirn erreicht haben…"

Nothing the doctor gave him was working. All day Scout had been taking the pills and covering any itchy skin with that weird green gel Medic gave him. And while it did smell nice and ease the itchiness somewhat, didn't keep it from springing up again five minutes later. By the time night fell, the bottle was halfway empty, and Scout was stuck tossing and turning in bed, ignoring the biting feeling anywhere skin met fabric.

He had no idea how long it had been since he crawled into his dorm, or how long it would be till morning. Dinner was skipped since it seemed no one wanted to be around him. Scout had encountered every one of his fellow mercs, and every single one besides Soldier made an excuse to excuse themselves from being near him. It was probably his outburst the night before that got them all on edge, or they just knew he was off in some way. Or didn't want the cold Scout so obviously had. Either way, he'd been left alone through the many hours of daylight.

Groaning, the runner ripped the blankets off, pushing himself to sit on the edge of his bed. Sleep wasn't coming, and his throat was sore, and he was thirsty. So forcing himself to stand, Scout dragged his stubborn body up and out his room.

With night came darkness, and with darkness came silence. And despite being stationed in the freaking desert, winter kept a stranglehold on the temperature. The chill raised goosebumps all along his arms and legs as his clothes had been switched to the typical pjs of an old tee and a pair of shorts.

Making his way quietly through the halls, Scout paused, listening closely to the ambiance of the sleeping compound. No one seemed awake, but he didn't know how late it was. The later in the night, the more people could be assumed to be sleeping. Problem was, it didn't feel late, but it didn't feel early.

It felt frozen in place. Like in limbo.

The walls were dark and the ceiling darker as no lights were on. The further in he went, the more the decor shifted. A trick of the eyes, weaving shadows into solid constructs. That, or the wooden walls were quickly becoming industrial. Lined in pipes, concrete, and air ducts.

Deep down Scout went in search of a drink of water, not paying any mind to the doors of rooms that couldn't exist in the base. They were heavy steel things, with plaques of people he knew solely by mentions. Supposed doctors, he'd been told. Doctors who specialize in genealogy and biology, all the sciences to create something the world shouldn't hope to see.

Turning the corner led to a kitchen, with its small wooden countertops and uncleaned stovetop. He stood at the doorway. How did they manage to build something like this all the way down here? This was the way to the test floor, how was this allowed to be made here. Well, it had been some time since he'd eaten anything, much less drink, so the man walked into the silent room.

The refrigerator held some water bottles, and he snatched one up without delay, relishing the cool taste. Finally, something that didn't taste like spoiled milk or copper.

He paused for a moment, taking a breath. His throat didn't burn anymore. And for the first time since he'd been chained down in these mechanical depths, the voices of the former test subjects didn't fill his mind. For once, in a very long time, it was only him in here.

Peace. At last.

Peace.

Peace and quiet.

Quiet.

Man, it sure was quiet.

Scout blinked.

When had his thoughts felt so loud before? They were always the same volume, and they had always sounded the same, so why did a part of him hate the sound?

And…

What the **** had he just been thinking about? Scout had been thinking the whole time, why did it only now feel like he'd been awake at all? He looked down at the bottle in his hand, the dew wetting his hand and a few stray droplets hitting his shirt.

Half empty already. He lifted it up and finished the rest. Tossing the bottle in the garbage, Scout made his way back through the wooden and homely base towards his dorm.

As he reached his door, something caught his attention. He peered at the window at the end of the hall. Inside the panes was the Scout's reflection.

The sight sent a horrible itch in the back of his head and he didn't stop to look again. He entered the dorm and locked the door behind him.

Somewhere, he could hear the faint sound of a runner crying.

Heyyyy

I'm alive! And still working. I swear I'm trying to get these out quicker, but y'know how life be. Hopefully the next won't take another month to write :P

Anyway, hope you all enjoyed the latest addition and leave a comment if you'd like, they mean the world!