. . .
Confusion spread across Athene's pretty features when Cyril uttered her name. Narrowing his eyes in scrutiny, he could see bruises and burn marks all over her body.
"Athene, it's me! Sniper!"
"S-Sniper?" She moved a bit closer into the hanging light.
The marksman was horrified, realizing what those malevolent henchmen had done to her. Her face was even more bruised than the rest of her body with several teeth missing and nasty cuts over her left eye and cheek. Feeling awful, he made his way over to her by crawling on both hands and his good leg.
He hissed at the sharp agony radiating from his missing fingers, but stubbornly ignored it.
As recognition dawned on her face, she gasped out, "You! The Australian at the hotel! The one with the beautiful emerald eyes!"
They may have been a copy of the RED Sniper's eyes, but he couldn't help but feel flattered when she complimented him on those eyes the first time they met.
"Yes!"
As he reached out a hand to comfort her, she backed away. "Please, no! I don't…want to be touched…"
Lowering his hand, he asked with grave concern, "Are you hurt bad?"
"No," she quickly denied, her voice tight. "I mean…kinda. I'm sorry, but…I don't mean to…it's just that…"
She wrapped her arms around herself and started sobbing.
"Athene, please," Cyril gently appealed. "What happened? What did they do to you?"
She shook her head, wiping the tears away. Whatever horrific treatment they had put her through, she was clearly traumatized. Feeling a gut-wrenching dread, Cyril hoped that they hadn't violated her in the worst way imaginable.
Righteous anger flared within him. If the day hadn't been excruciating and stressful enough, it certainly was now seeing his acquaintance reduced to a sniveling mess.
"Those evil sonofabitches!" he growled.
Athene glanced at him again, now noticing his injured hand. "They hurt you too."
He let out a humorless laugh. "I just joined the club. But it makes me royally pissed off that they would hurt a woman."
"Wha—what do they want with us?"
That question left Cyril with more questions than answers. The only thing he could figure out was that they were after Mick Mundy. But what did Athene have to do with it? Was she somehow connected to him? Or were they also targeting Mann Co. employees who normally did business with TF Industries and its subsidiary companies?
"I don't know," he admitted. "It seems they have it out for my RED counterpart, but I don't see how I tie into all of this." He turned to her, compelled to ask, "Do you know the Sniper from the RED Team?"
Athene blinked a few times, shaking her head. In even in the hanging light, there was an empty, defeated look in her grey eyes.
"Well, he's sorta like my twin brother. They didn't mistake me for him, since they clearly know who I am."
"Sniper, I'm scared," Athene admitted. "And I'm hurting…they-they burned me with cigarettes and they-"
She stopped short of saying whatever else they had put her through. Cyril wished so badly that he could gather her in his arms and console her. But her refusal at being touched was a disturbing sign of having been-
Slapping the appalling thought away, he tried focusing on what he could do to ease her distress. He forgot his own painful ordeal, now only caring about what had happened to his one-time friend. A selfless gesture that characterized him more and more...
"Athene, whatever they did to you, they're going to pay," he vowed. "I promise you that."
. . .
. . .
It was early Friday evening, and BLU was mostly settled down. Earlier, they had played a game of blackjack, Twister, and craps to distract themselves from thinking about the current, unpleasant situation.
Heavy was in a deep hibernation in his room. He hadn't gotten much sleep all night due to his chronic insomnia – something the RED Heavy didn't suffer from. Soldier was watching 'The Great Escape' again on the main TV. It was just one of his latest obsessions in the epic war film genre. He had already seen 'Patton' at the theater ten times now, with the rest of the team giving up after the third viewing.
Pyro sat beside him, watching it for a bit but then grew bored once they realized no cartoon characters were showing up or continuous blazes of fire peppered the screen. Scout could sit still longer than his RED counterpart through a war film and actually liked them. Except, he was too bothered by Cyril's disappearance to fully engage in it.
So, he went over and peered into the recreational room, where Spy and Medic were watching the news and combing for any clues of Cyril's whereabouts.
"And here we are, right back to the incident where a young couple was found passed out." The newsman gestured towards a parking lot of The Swag Club. "Now the couple, Jimmy Calhoun and Doris Pitter are with me on this second interview."
The camera then panned over to the young man and woman.
"So, you two claim that you have new information on what happened the night you were attacked?"
Jimmy nodded. "Yeah. Umm, I forgot to add that we found half of an M&M on the ground. It might have belonged to the attacker."
"We gave the candy to the police as evidence," Doris agreed.
"Incredible job, you guys!" the reporter praised. "This is sure to lead us to the notorious perpetrator who dare do this insidious thing to you adorable lovebirds."
Doris gave thumbs up. "Well, if it'll help in any way. I say we got a 100% chance we'll find him…uh, assuming it's a him."
"And there you have it," the reporter enthusiastically spoke into the camera. "An update worth your time on a normal incident at the Swag Club, where patrons are mysteriously attacked on average about once per week. I'm Joel Taslin for KRQE News. Tamara, back to you."
The screen then cut to a blonde anchorwoman. "In other news, a man came home to a devastating scene when he caught his budgie mating with a tennis ball…"
Spy sighed, covering his face while Medic's own dropped in disappointment. Scout just snorted and left to go back to his room. Meanwhile, Demoman was on the phone in the kitchen, talking to a psychic hotline.
"So, what do ye see, Shelly? Is it Sniper?"
"Mmm…sorry, but I'm not receiving any visions of his whereabouts," Shelly answered. "However, I do see that your boss is going to die in a week."
"What? Really?"
"Yes, and it will be a joyful time in your life."
"Huh? If he kicks the bucket, how am I going tae get paid then?"
"I have the answer, but you must deposit $100 for the next two minutes," Shelly proposed.
"Got it, lass. You need my number again?" Demoman was glancing down at his American Express card in eager anticipation when the phone line went dead.
"Hello?"
Not even a disconnected tone.
"Helloooo? Shelly?"
He tried dialing the number again, but the phone was completely inoperable.
Engineer appeared at the kitchen entryway. "The phone ain't working again? The rats probably chewed through the wires as usual." He sighed. "I'm gonna have to go out there and fix'em."
"Nooo! I have to find out about the money part!" Demoman grabbed some car keys hanging from a wall rack. "I'm going down the road to the pay phone!"
"Didn't that mumbo jumbo woman have anything on Sniper?" Engineer asked.
"No, but she said Blutarch's dying next week and we're probably gonna get canned and then we'll all be broke as fuck 'cause we never save and invest like we should, we just blow our money on stupid shit like the idiot twats that we are and by Dagda's divine nutsack, why is this happening?! I wanted to buy Boudicca's mummified tongue for $80,000 and now that's not going tae happen, SHIITT!" Demoman ranted before dashing out the backdoor.
Engineer watched him go, mouth slightly agape. "Ah, well…could yah stop by Glen's for some corndogs?" He turned to exit the kitchen but then paused. "Wait...Blutarch's gonna die?"
In his room, Scout was laying on the floor, feet sticking up and arms spread out. Breathe in, breathe out. He was trying to calm his mind by doing a quirky meditation that Bubo did. He had tried out several sessions when he saw Cyril practice it, which was usually on a picnic blanket outside with his owl buddy.
Beside him, Bruins, his Blu Jay friend, also lay in the same position. Scout turned to him, letting out a frustrated sigh.
"Naw bud, this ain't bringin' me to the center of Na-nasty or whatever it was Snipes said," he admitted, while botching the term 'Namaste'.
Bruins turned his head, his beady little eyes blinking. The runner then got off the floor, the bird copying him and doing the same. Rubbing his face, he went to peer out the window. From afar, he could see the parched area where the camper van was normally parked. Several small boulders and deadwood Pinyon pine trees scattered its empty surroundings.
Some owls were gathered in the area, a few of them asleep while perched on the rocks, logs, or up in the trees. Scout wondered if Bubo was out there…
Brows furrowing, he opened the window to let Bruins out. "See ya around, pally. Tell your wife and kiddos I said hi."
He grabbed his wallet and went down the hall to knock on Pyro's door with no answer. He knocked again, this time a little firmer. Maybe the firebug was downstairs watching 'Bozo The Clown' on the third TV.
He placed his hand against the door, feeling it for heat – just in case Pyro went hog wild again with a bonfire. Nope, it was cool to the touch.
"Mmphh."
"AAHH!" Scout yelped, nearly jumping out of his skin. He whirled around, clutching a hand to his chest. Pyro stood there, goggled eyes expressionless as usual.
"Shit, ya nearly gave me a coronary!" Scout said, exasperated.
"Sthorry."
"How'd you sneak up on me?"
The firebug pointed towards their feet, clothed only in socks. Plus, given that the hall floor was built with a combination of reinforced wood, concrete, and linoleum, hardly any creaks resounded from walking over it shoeless.
"You're freakin' gettin' just as bad as Spy doin' that," Scout admonished.
Before Pyro could reply, the runner grabbed them by their shoulder and moved them against the wall. Leaning in a conspiratorial manner towards the arsonist, Scout asked, "Hey Py, you wanna go snoopin' around Sante Fe for some clues?"
"Mphhgse?"
"Yeah, I got this idea of tracking down Snipes. You wanna know how?"
"?"
Scout beckoned to an arched window at the end of the hall. If there's one thing this base had, it was a lot of windows. The runner pointed down at the ground towards the owls.
"His bird buddy."
Pyro titled their head, quizzical.
"You know how he's always talkin' to it like it understands him? And no, I don't think that's when he started gettin' loony on us." Scout thumbed his chin in thought. "Or maybe he was. Anyhow, he told me the owl tracked him down in the desert that one time he dream-walked. The bird's like some sort of antenna to him."
Pyro gestured with their arms in a shrug. "Mphghg hiohghs."
"Uh yeah, he might've been hearin' voices all this time. Even so, I'm still gonna test it out. So, you with me on this?"
A part of him expected the arsonist to refuse his foray into a half-assed sleuth trip. Maybe it was a waste of time. How would Scout even get the owl to cooperate?
"Hudda hudda!" Pyro clasped their hands, excited.
Scout rubbed his hands together, smiling with a hint of deviousness. "Sweet! We'll just tell the guys we're heading out to get some snacks. If we don't turn up by tomorrow, they'll probably think we got wasted again at Malley Pub."
Later outside…
Bubo was worried. He hadn't seen Cyril in over three days now. He could tell by the facial expressions of his teammates that they were distressed over it as well. Although his telepathic link with the sharpshooter was weakening, he could still sense his friend was in trouble.
He was perched on a small, weathered boulder, staring at the empty spot where the camper van should have been. The sun was dipping below the horizon, signaling dusk would arrive soon. Just then, he spotted two familiar figures approaching him.
Alarmed, some of the other owls flew to a safer distance. Most of them were only used to being around Cyril. Bubo and a few others were the exception. Since he found humans fascinating and was naturally curious, he had already warmed up to Scout and Pyro.
The runner recognized Bubo and leveled a finger at him. "You. Brownie."
The owl immediately knew the English phrase – it was the quirky nickname that the runner bestowed on him. He blinked his dark eyes, expectant.
"You wanna help us find Snipes?"
Of course, Bubo couldn't understand the noise coming out of the human's mouth. Then the young man reached into his side pocket, took out a photo and shoved it in the owl's face.
It was a picture of Cyril – except, it was the back of his head and without the hat. It seemed like he was in a darkly lit hallway, giving off more of the generic outline of a man. Bubo was confused.
"Sniper! Help us find Sni-per!"
Sniper? Yes, that name sounded vaguely familiar. But he still couldn't quite get why Scout was showing him the picture.
Then Pyro pulled out a perfectly sketched drawing of the marksman, all meticulously shaded and outlined by colored pencil. Above the drawing was his real name, Cyril.
"Mphgh phehgh."
Scout glanced at the drawing, frowning. "Cyril?"
That's when the lightbulb went off in the raptor's head. He understood the marksman's true designation even better. He then let out a high-pitched hoot, now at attention. Pyro pointed at the drawing, then gestured towards the west where the sky was still splashed in purples and reds from the setting sun.
They want to go look for him! Bubo figured.
He let out several earnest squawks to show that he understood.
"You in? Good!" Scout snatched up Bubo and dashed towards a Pontiac Firebird that was parked alongside Engineer's truck and Soldier's army jeep.
The poor little owl could barely make out what was happening, being held tightly, and facing the car's door just about a second later. This human was fast!
Scout opened the driver's side and tossed Bubo in the backseat, while Pyro got in on the passenger side. Shaking his little puffy head, the owl tried to reorient to his surroundings. Scout started up the engine and backed out of the parking lot. Stepping on the gas pedal and with wheels screeching, he sped towards the exit of the base's disguised backdrop.
After sharply swerving onto the road, Scout turned his head towards a shaken Bubo.
"You good back there? If ya get carsick, we can pull over to the side and you can puke, okay?"
The raptor wasn't used to the wild maneuvers and abrupt speed of Scout's driving; Cyril tended to be a more controlled, graceful driver. Still, he keenly sensed that the two mercenaries' hearts were in the right place: they wanted to find their friend and he was going to help them.
Bubo could barely feel Cyril's presence. The link was fading and he could tell it didn't look good. Moreover, he didn't have enough confidence in approaching Cyril's teammates and trying to convey the message that he could help somehow.
"Mphsh hojphh?" Pyro asked.
"Why didn't I include the others? 'Cause, one: I can't stand that fucktard, Demo. Two: Soldier's glued to the TV watchin' that long-ass war film again. Ain't no way you could pry him away from it, even if ya bribed him with American flag-themed underwear. Three: Spy won't let me drive this car. Four: Heavy was power nappin' and ya know how cranky he gets when he don't get enough sleep. And five? I want all the glory in findin' Snipes."
The arsonist pointed to themselves. "Hurmph mmphdsh?"
"Uh, I miiight share some of the spotlight with you."
Pyro really didn't care, so as long as they got to burn something.
"Mphgh phigs?"
"Hey, if we get in a jam, we can always call'em from a pay phone. You brought along some nickels, right?"
Pyro shook their head.
The runner waved it off. "Ah, no worries. We'll just do a collect call again. That is, if Engie picks up. He at least accepts the charges."
. . .