. . .
Cyril's eyes flew open, feeling himself covered in cold sweat. There was a painful thrumming to the back of his head. The memories of last night hit him like a ton of bricks – well, actually a fire extinguisher.
It seems like in the last month he could never catch a break from being whacked upside the head.
"What the-"
He glanced around in confusion. This certainly wasn't his room; the bed he was lying on was too hard. He saw that all the walls and floors were lined with gray stone and mortar.
Across from him was a large, rectangular opening, lined with iron-clad bars. Behind him was a small window just six feet above the floor, also fitted with bars. An incandescent ceiling bulb poorly illuminated the 10' by 10' room.
Slowly getting up, he was hit with a biting draft of the chill coming from the small window. On the floor, he spotted his hat which must have fallen off when he was brought into the cell.
A man. He attacked me…I heard his voice…
Shuddering in an unsteady breath, Cyril picked up the hat and gingerly put it on his head. It still hurt from the blows he sustained, but he didn't seem to have any other injuries. He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling an involuntary shiver.
That man had something to do with being imprisoned in this unfamiliar, dank place.
Why was he here? Had he been kidnapped for ransom? Over forty minutes passed before the marksman heard two pairs of footsteps tapping over hard concrete. He braced himself – he could handle this.
How worse could it be than what he'd already suffered through in the Gravel Wars?
Two men appeared, though he wasn't sure if one of them was the attacker from The Swag Club. But what surprised him was the small girl beside them. She looked no more than seven to nine years old, with long stringy blond hair. She barely acknowledged Cyril, seemingly in a trance, her hazel eyes were vacant. He wondered if she was one of their daughters.
"What the hell's the meaning of this?" Cyril demanded. "Where am I?"
One of the men turned to the other. "Sounds just like the Aussie bastard. You'd think he'd be a twin brother."
"Oh, but he is," the other replied. "He was just created in a laboratory."
His partner scoffed. "The real fucker is still gonna pay, after what he did to me all those years ago. Chopping off my fingers? Breaking my leg? I'm gonna cut off his pecker and pull out his ribs, one by one."
"For now, you can just take it out on his copy." A sardonic smile. "Just for practice."
The other man cracked his knuckles. "I just might."
Apparently, he had past grievances with Mick Mundy. What was this all about? A vendetta? What did Cyril have to do with it?
"How do you know about the clones?" the sharpshooter warily asked.
"Sources," was the brief answer.
No, it can't be. Someone from TF Industries must have leaked out classified information. Or even the enemy Spy. Cyril wouldn't put it past the RED – that sneaky bastard was capable of anything in order to undermine BLU's operations.
"What do you want from me?" Cyril asked.
The first man smiled, eyes radiating off an unsettling, dead look. A psychopath. "Nothing."
The marksman gave them a look of disbelief. Both of them laughed derisively, while the girl beside them glanced away.
"Nothing at all, really!" his captor continued with irritating mock enthusiasm.
"You're just an added bonus for the boss," the other remarked.
They had to be bullshitting him. Cyril felt a twinge of anger as they were clearly enjoying it.
The first man then turned to the girl. "Look at him."
She hesitated, keeping her face turned the other way. The criminal roughly grabbed her chin, turning her toward Cyril and snapping, "Look. At. Him."
A moment later, the child's eyes flew to him, eyes full of abject fear.
"Does he look like a good daddy-taker?"
"P—please, don't…" she softly begged.
"Answer me or I'll lash you again, Muriel."
"Please don't make me do this!"
"Oh no, not yet. We have to prep you up again. I wouldn't just throw you at the deep end of the pool without first starting in the shallow area. I'm not in that kind of mood today."
"Answer, bratty little bitch!" the other criminal barked.
"Hey! Don't talk to her like that!" Cyril admonished.
Both men just snickered. "Yep, a normal one. His empathy and morality keep him enslaved like the majority in this world."
"What?"
Ignoring him, the first criminal's hand tightened on Murial. "Spit it out."
The girl's eyes cast down, reluctantly. "Yes."
"Good." The first man let go her of chin, before grabbing her arm and taking her away. He turned back to his partner. "See that he gets food. The boss doesn't want him emaciated when he begins the plan."
Both men walked away, while Cyril yelled out, "What plan?"
The way they had treated the girl disturbed him. He found himself feeling bad for her, wondering why she was even here at all. Whatever it was, it suddenly made him feel sick.
. . .
It was late afternoon when BLU Engineer put his phone down, disappointed. It wasn't the first time he had worried over a missing teammate.
There was that one-time Scout stowed away on a train to Los Angeles. When they finally tracked down the locomotive in Arizona, they found him drinking with four aspiring model women, lipstick kisses all over his face and looking like he was on Cloud 9. He was all fattened up, not looking like a toothpick for once; munching on a bucket fulls of chicken could really do that to someone.
Engineer didn't even want to know what had gone on behind the scenes, so they just yanked Scout out of the coach car and headed back to New Mexico. Another time was when Spy went off for four days without telling anyone; when they questioned him about it, not surprisingly, he was elusive about certain parts of the story.
Several other team members were gathered in the kitchen.
"Any luck?" Demoman asked.
"Just a little," the hardhat replied. "The bartender reported seeing Slim last night. He was spotted hanging out with Jimmy and Doris. They left sometime after 1:30 AM. No sign of his camper van though."
He frowned, troubled. "What's odd is that some patrons found the couple in the parking lot. There was a nasty bruise across the boy's face. When they awoke, they didn't recall anything."
"Is obvious boy was attacked," Heavy stated. From below the round table where he was seated, Scout snuck a hand to grab a Cheeto from his bowl. Heavy immediately slapped the pilfering appendage away.
"Ahch!" Scout yelped.
"I just hope Slim didn't have anything to do with it." Engineer took his goggles off, revealing tired brown eyes.
Medic had been leaning against the fridge in quiet contemplation, but now broke his silence. "He already can't tell zhe difference between his friends and enemies, making him dangerously unpredictable. He could very well have assaulted zhe couple."
"Maybe we should just wait until he comes back," Demoman spoke up. "Like last time. He was gone for several hours in September. He said it was sleepwalkin.' That might have happened again to the poor lad."
The same hand stealthily crept inside the Scotsman's bowl of Bugles. Demoman struck out like a cobra, tightly grabbing Scout's hand in a painful, vice-like grip.
"Ow, ow, jeez man!" Scout protested.
"Git yer own Bugles, ya gremlin thief!" Demoman growled, roughly letting go of the runner's hand.
"The idea is sound," Medic mused. "Zhere's a chance he'll return."
And so, they waited one more day. By dinner time, Cyril still hadn't shown up. Engineer had to report it to Darryl, who subsequently received instructions from the Administrator to stand by. The battles were going to resume, and everyone had to prepare to take back or defend Blutarch's rightful territories.
In the mess hall, they ate their meals, but now with noticeable tension. They weren't used to seeing Cyril absent from the dinner table, except on days when he was sick.
"I hope Sniper is okay," Heavy remarked while swirling his spoon in a large bowl of meatball soup.
"And zat he hasn't gone on a killing spree in his warped state," Spy added grimly.
"But where the hell could he have gone?" Engineer wondered. "For all we know, he could've high tailed it to Mexico."
"Or Canuck Land," Demoman added.
"Or Rastafarian Land," Scout threw in.
"Or Disney Land," Soldier remarked.
Medic was pensive. "If vee could alert zhe public of our missing comrade, zhat may give us a lead in finding him."
Scout folded his arms, indignant. "If Snipes just upped and ditched us…I mean, how could he? After everything we've been through! After all those times I shared Bonk drinks with him!"
"Since when has he ever liked that sugary sludge?" Demoman jeered.
"It's not sludge! It's the best drink evah!"
"Is that why ye're always shaking and talking a mile a minute like a crackhead?" Demoman shot back. "Hmmm, maybe that's why Sniper went off the deep end. Yer drinks liquified his brain! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!"
"Shut up, dumbass Davy Jones reject!" Scout snapped.
"Boys, save your bro bonding for later," Engineer interjected. "Right now, we have to focus on finding out what happened to Slim. If he don't show up within the next few days, our battle at Upward will be called off."
Scout and Demoman didn't always get along, usually arguing over trivial things. It was no different than two brothers fighting, with the Scotsman mostly picking on Scout. This wasn't the case with their RED counterparts, who got along pretty well.
"Is not good without Sniper," Heavy cut in. "I agree with Doktor. We need to put out the word. An anonymous tip to police at least."
"But if the public should find out his true identity?"
"I have zhe feeling zhe public knew all along, but zhere sweeping it under zhe rug," Medic groaned. "Zhere's too many signs pointing to zhat. Zhey're not stupid, contrary to vhat vee believe."
"Your hunches are usually spot on," Engineer agreed. "If they've been looking the other way, so much for keeping this war a secret."
"I blame Scout! He's always blabber mouthing to people everywhere we go—" Demoman began.
"That's it, dickhead!" Scout got up from his chair, ready to slug the explosives expert in the face. "Have at you!"
"Bring it on, ye little bed wetter!" Demoman taunted, also rising from his seat.
"Ugly, one-eyed freak!"
"Buck-toothed asswipe!"
"Stop it this instant!" Engineer held out an arm to prevent Scout from thrashing Demoman. "Now if yah both keep this up, I'm gonna have to send yah to your rooms as usual; without your Bonk or Scrumpy."
He couldn't believe he was having to settle down two grown men acting like children, but here he was.
Medic pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please gentlemen, for the sanity of us all. You should be directing all zhat animosity towards our enemies, not trying to one-up zhe other in insults."
"Demo-turd shouldn't be falsely accusing me of squealing to others!" Scout retorted.
"Yeah, keep denying it, ye stupid gowk!" Demoman needled.
"Go shove a bomb pill up your-"
"Boys!" Engineer cut in. "I'm warning yah!"
Spy knew he should be the one keeping his son in line, despite Scout being an adult. Except, he felt no paternal connection with the young man. If anything, he viewed the bat slugger more like a cousin, having grown up with him during their brief youth life at TF Industries.
After all, he was a clone - bereft of any history connected to RED Spy. Most of the time he found amusement in Scout and Demo's quarrels. Spy wasn't as serious and easily annoyed by such things as his RED counterpart was. He was a little more laid-back, informal, and even played pranks on his teammates.
Though, he sometimes felt bad for Engie; the hardhat looked more like a frazzled father breaking up his children's petty squabbles rather than a techno genius.
Just then, the phone in the kitchen rang. Engineer went over to answer it, needing a break from Scout and Demo's shit.
"BLU Base, Engineer speaking."
"Hi, it's Felicia! I heard the news about Sniper."
"Uh, yeah, he's sorta MIA."
Being Miss Pauling's clone, Felicia occasionally checked in to see how the team was doing. She was tasked with helping them with any supplies or communications to TF Industries, while the former worked with RED. Pauling didn't disclose this to her clone, as she didn't trust Felicia wouldn't spill the beans to BLU team on her dual tenure for both sides.
"Medic updated me on his condition and what happened. I just hope he's found."
Engineer sighed. "I do too, Felice. At this point, we don't know if he left us while still in his right mind."
"I know…" Felicia was apprehensive. "I mean, he's my friend and all, but…like, he's getting more and more kooky. I admit, it's scaring me. He could go AWOL on us…he could hurt innocent people while in one of his loony meltdowns, he can even...I dunno, start voting Libertarian!"
These all made Engineer uneasy. "I understand your concerns. Our team is discussing a plan on how to find him as soon as possible."
"Good to know, Engie." There was a hint of sadness in Felicia's voice. It depressed her to watch one of her friends mentally deteriorating as well. Cyril may never be the same again. "Since he isn't getting better, our staff is working on hiring a new Sniper for the time being."
On the one hand, Engineer was relieved that they wouldn't be one man down in the upcoming battles. But, on the other hand, he worried how this new mercenary would fare with the team. Would he be just as skilled as Cyril in his weaponry and camping tactics?
"He should be arriving next week," Felicia continued. "Even if Sniper is found by then, he's being suspended until further notice."
"Understood."
"I'll keep you posted on the date of the new mercenary's arrival."
"Got it." The hardhat then nervously ventured, "Felicia, if Sniper doesn't recover from this mental affliction, what'll happen to him?"
There was a momentary pause. "I'm not sure, Engie. Assuming he's found alive, if his condition can't be cured, then he'll probably be put in an asylum. Or, he could be…"
Killed, Engineer thought.
It wasn't above Blutarch or the Administrator to carry out an execution. Especially if Cyril started randomly attacking or murdering civilians. Or divulging classified information to anyone. It was a form of damage control.
"Yeah, I know the second option. Hell, I wish I knew some kind of solution to his ordeal, but my field is in electronics and mechanical engineering."
"None of us were expecting this," Felicia assured. "But right now, let's focus on what we can do. The Administrator is aware that Sniper may pose a risk to society in his condition. We're exhausting all other resources before having to resort to the drastic options."
"We were thinking of alerting the public to his whereabouts. Perhaps, under the guise that he's an employee of BLU's corporate side."
"We had the same idea here. I started printing out flyers to nail on posts. Our reward is set to $5.00."
"Eh, yah might want to up it some more."
"How much more?"
"Like $5,000?"
"Mmmm, that's what The Administrator suggested, but Blutarch refused."
That greedy old bag, Engineer seethed. The tycoon was already swimming in boatloads of cash, what were several 1,000-dollar bills lost anyway?
"We'll have to try again. Maybe I can get Billingsworth in on this."
Ah yes, the pompous civilian that BLU was tasked with protecting from RED last year.
"If he even wants to get involved; he loves his money too."
Felicia bit her lip, thinking. "Perhaps we could owe him something in the future."
Engineer was a bit reluctant, but figured it was worth a shot. Hell, if Billingsworth didn't want to get involved, the whole team could pitch in for the reward money. "Even trade, I suppose. Well, if it'll help find Sniper. We're all worried about him."
"Me too. I'll get on it right away. If you need anything else, we're just a phone call away."
After Engineer hung up, he leaned against the wall and hung his head.
Slim, where the hell are yah?
. . .
Notes:
* BLU protecting the Civilian Class from getting killed by RED is a playable mode in the "Team Fortress 2 Classic" mod game, titled "VIP." It was also available in the first game.
*The $1,000 bill was more prominent in the 1930s - 1960s, but stopped being in production by 1969. President Grover Cleveland was the face of the bill.
. . .