. . .
Athene watched as the new prisoner dragged himself over and leaned against the wall that was catacorner to her position.
"Man, if only I had a cigarette," the young man muttered. "Rotten hosts, I'm tellin' ya. Can't even give their 'guests' a little somethin' nice. Ah well, it's hypocritical of me anyway since I'm tryin' to quit." His blue eyes then flew to her prone form. "You look like you've been through the grinder, Miss."
She didn't know what to make of him, as he was seemingly taking his captivity a little lightly. Or maybe it was just his way of coping with such a horrible situation that could result in his untimely death. She merely looked away, feeling hopeless again.
Okay, so they captured another unlucky person to torture… she thought bitterly. Join the club, as Sniper said…
Still, she felt bad for him – she didn't know him at all, but her gut feeling was telling her that he didn't deserve any more of this than they did. And the kids…especially them! Her heart ached for whatever revolting abuse they were going through. Their parents were probably worrying to death over their disappearances.
Curiosity getting the better of her (as it sometimes did), she asked, "What's your name?"
There was a slight smile on his bruised face. "Well, I wish it was Jesse James."
The name sounded vaguely familiar. Wasn't that some Old West outlaw?
"But hell. My Ma wanted to name me Jack." He shrugged. "So, it stayed."
"I'm…Athene."
"Ah, that's a pretty name. Don't know any chicks named Athene. Most of them are Betty, Ethel, Phyliss, Mary. Yeah, cool name."
"I'm sorry….that this is happening. I wish there was some way to escape…"
Jack waved it off. "Ah, don't be sorry 'bout anythin.' Not your fault we got snatched up by some nasty underground snakes that would make Capone's own gang blush."
Just then, a girl with dirty blond hair and wearing a sweat jacket with jeans appeared at the bars. She was carrying a tray with three bowls and several pieces of bread.
"I brought you some food," she announced.
She knelt down, pushing the bowls through a tiny open latch that was built into the bars. Athene had already met her, since she had been the primary provider for all her meals.
"Hi Jenny." She was glad to see the girl. It always brought her some solace in this cruel, suffocating place.
"Hi Athene," the girl greeted back, pushing a few cups of water in.
"Can you stay awhile today?"
"No, I have to feed the others." Jenny didn't bring herself to say 'prisoners.' Her own trauma was shielding her from the vile truth.
"Huh, another one with a J name. That's what my Ma wanted to name her next kid if she ever had a girl." He gave her a wry smile. "I'm Jack, by the way."
Jenny nodded before frowning. "You sound different. Where are you from?"
"Boston. Not the greatest place to stay in one spot, as I'm a travel-sorts of guy. I want to venture out and explore the U.S."
The girl's hazel eyes lit up. "Boston is in Massachusetts, right?"
"Yep."
"That's where my favorite aunt lives. She lives in Springfield."
They continued to talk for a while, with Jack getting to know the girl and even Athene in the process. It kept Athene from completely losing it, after the absolute hell she went through. A part of her was now damaged for life…but was she just as inconsolable as she believed herself to be?
She thought of Cyril. He had stood up for her like a classic gentleman. His roguish looks and charming voice undoubtedly had an effect on her…not like she felt with her last two boyfriends. Athene wondered if he had some girl waiting for him at home.
She knew about his role as a sniper in the war. So, he too liked to target shoot. In Athene's first year as a clone, she was attracted to the story of Annie Oakley. It inspired her to pick up a rifle and try her hand at long-range shooting.
Annie had defied social norms for women by becoming an expert in sharpshooting, which at the time, was dominated by men. Athene was saving up to buy her first Sharps scoped rifle – and then her world came crashing down when she was kidnapped by Gital's men.
As if her thoughts on Cyril materialized into solid form, her jailors were back. In their arms was the marksman, now barely conscious. Jenny moved out of their way, eyes cast downwards.
"What are you still doing here, Murial?" Sakim demanded.
The girl shook her head. "No, it's me, Jenny. Murial's in one of the chambers cleaning up."
"Stop bullshitting with these fuckers and keep feeding the others. I swear, I can't keep up with two identical brats."
Jenny nodded. "Yes, sir."
Even through her uneasy countenance, she was polite to the captors. They probably threatened her into being so.
Glancing sadly at the other prisoners, she sauntered off with the empty tray in her hands as Cyril was thrown back into the cell. He landed on his right side with an unceremonious thud, his face contorted in pain.
"Sniper…" Athene gasped.
Her own trauma of not wanting anyone to touch her after multiple rapes was beginning to fray at the ends. Her heart was now gradually taking over her mind (as it always did); it wanted to override her visceral fear of another person getting close to her under the false pretense that they would violate her too.
She wanted to go over and comfort him…so badly. But her fear…
He laid there for a moment, before glancing up at her with wounded eyes. She was appalled when she saw the right one was swollen shut; fresh new cuts dotted his face, neck, and arms.
A burning hatred filled her at what those monsters had done to him. But it wasn't in Athene's nature to hate…it felt foreign and uncomfortable to her. Hate may have come easily to her original template, The Administrator, but not her.
Still, the strong feeling persisted, and righteously so. How could they do such awful, inhumane things to others?
"Too bad we can't gouge his eyes out like Tarjack wanted," Sakim remarked. "The boss is saving that for the crochety old bastard, Mundy, to watch. Oh well, I'll be there when it happens. And when his twin's eyes get cut out too."
With that, they walked away, while Jack glared after them. He then went over to help Cyril sit upright.
"Ah jeez, you're bleedin' all over. Here…"
The young man took off his suede jacket and bundled up a portion of it to press against a particularly nasty cut to the corner of Cyril's lip.
"Man, it's like they took a knife and tried carvin' you a new smile," Jack commented, disgusted.
Cyril let the man tend to his wound, grateful for the help and relaxed a bit. Unlike RED Sniper, he was a little more trusting with strangers…except in matters regarding Blutarch and TF Industries. Still, this could sometimes be dangerous for a mercenary because it made him more naïve and vulnerable to being taken advantage of.
"Thank you…" Cyril managed out quietly.
"No problem. Gotta lot of experience patchin' up my brothers' wounds. That shit could get real nasty sometimes."
"I'm in good hands then."
Athene couldn't stand it anymore and decided to push past her rape trauma. Her empathy for Cyril's condition was overriding everything else. Taking off her tattered blazer, she crawled over to cover another bleeding gash on Cyril's arm. He looked up, somewhat surprised.
"Athene?"
"I'm just following Jack's lead." She managed a wan smile, once again becoming engrossed in his ruggedly handsome features; despite part of his face being beaten in and swollen.
It still felt somewhat uncomfortable being close to another person – the threat of getting sexually assaulted tried to drive her into a blind panic and recoil away from him. But not if her compassion and kindness had something to say about it…
"No, please. If being near me makes you uncomfortable, don't force yourself," Cyril protested.
Athene shook her head, resolute. "It seems my heart is dictating my actions, however corny that sounds. I can't seem to stop it." She looked down, somewhat coy. "I suppose you don't believe in that concept - that the heart and mind can be two separate entities."
Cyril mulled over it. "I kind of do...you know that expression, 'wear your heart on your sleeve?' It's the positive part of our emotional side."
She continued pressing the blazer firmly against Cyril's open gash. The marksman was breathing steadily, despite a few fractured ribs, as his two new friends worked to stop the bleeding.
This is...nice…
He let out a small chuckle. "Never thought I'd end up imprisoned with two people caring for my injuries. What next, are you two are gonna make a cast for my leg and help me walk?"
Jack glanced down at the marksman's legs. "You can't walk?"
"No, those sadistic assholes broke my left leg in so many places, I'm surprised it's still attached to my hip bone."
"Goddamn, they really have it out for you, don't they?"
"That and someone else out there." He was finding it a little more difficult to breathe with the cracked ribs, so he kept it to a minimal rhythm.
He briefly thought of his owl friend, Traveler, and hoped that she managed to find help. But if she ever reached Bubo, how would he be able to relay the SOS message to the other BLUs? As it was, there was a huge language barrier between birds and humans.
They'll find a way… a voice inside Cyril insisted.
A bit taken aback; he'd heard it before. It was a part of him that he often associated with something enigmatic…like with the triangular, twin-flame symbol in his dreams.
"By the way, the name's Jack," the young man introduced.
The marksman smiled wanly. Well, no harm in revealing his true name to them. At this point, if he died, he'd no longer be in BLU's service anyway.
"Mine is Cyril," he introduced.
Athene's eyes slightly widened. "I thought you weren't allowed to disclose your identity to outsiders."
"Most of my team knows our true names," he explained. "But we've gotten so used to calling each other by our special designations, that we don't even use them. Plus, I doubt the two of you will run off and tell the government about it."
Jack snorted. "I dunno about that. Part of my job is diggin' up information."
Cyril had noticed that he spoke with a familiar accent. It definitely originated from the eastern United States, whether it be Philadelphian, Brooklyn or even…
"Say, by any chance, are you from Boston?" he asked.
Jack was impressed. "Hey, good guess! Yep, the one and only Hub of the Universe. Outsiders call it 'Beantown.' Although, we'd rather be known for our infamous tea riot, Red Sox Nation and hell, even the Irish Gang Wars."
"Well, I work with someone like you…I mean, he has the same accent."
"Heh, a lot of us are spread throughout the country like ants from a dirt hill. Who knows, ya might find one of us on the edges of the Mauna Loa volcano."
"I have a coworker named Jack," Athene remarked.
"It's a pretty common name. My parents had this thing with giving their kids names with the letter J. Especially my dad; he was a widower with two boys and had dibs on naming them. Then he met my Ma, continuing the whole cycle with their children."
"So, your mom got into it too?"
"Yeah. It also helped that her dad was named James. She named one of my brothers after him. Then there's Joseph, Jules, John, Jeremy and so forth."
Something intrinsically familiar stirred in the back of Cyril's mind. Spy, being the intelligence specialist that he was, had managed to get a hold of RED's true identities. One day, he just walked by the table where they were having breakfast and slapped a dossier down, grinning like Cheshire Cat.
He had bragged about getting hold of it due to sneaking into TF Industries and tricking one of the records technicians into handing it over to him. Quite an easy thing to do with a mere disguise. Sure, special measures were taken to detect anyone using a disguise kit when getting past security…but what Blutarch and The Administrator didn't count on was an employee who was half dimwitted and half smart at certain times.
During one of the former phases, the employee was easily called out of the archive room and unwittingly relinquished the documents to Spy. He had managed to manipulate the poor guy into doing so during his most vulnerable state.
That was how Cyril knew his counterpart's real name, as well as the other REDs. He recalled that one of them was named Jeremy.
The RED Scout?
No, it was just a coincidence, right?
"Hey, that Boston guy ya work with, I might know him."
Cyril wasn't sure about that. "I don't know. He's never been to Bo—"
He immediately caught his mistake, biting his tongue. Of course, the BLU Scout had never been to the city. He was a clone and they only ever traveled around the western United States.
"I mean…he's never been one to…talk much of his hometown?"
Jack shrugged. "I don't suppose he does. What's his name anyway?"
Cyril heaved a breath, before blurting out, "Billy."
He figured BLU Scout would get on his ass later about giving away his true identity. But being the runner often told strangers his name when he was drunk (and getting berated for it by the other BLU members), it probably didn't matter at this point.
"Billy, huh?"
"Yeah, he named himself after Billy The Kid. He admires the outlaw, though I don't know why. He was a criminal."
Jack's eyes twinkled. "That may be, but he was also a badass gunslinger. He symbolized chaotic freedom, a rebel to authority. I can see why films often romanticize his character."
Athene was a bit confused, turning to Cyril. "Wait…your coworker named himself?"
Uh-oh, slipped again…
Like they'd actually believe him if he confessed that he and BLU Scout were clones.
"Uhh, well…he didn't like his original name. So, he insists on being called that." Cyril hoped they would buy the explanation.
Jack looked thoughtful. "Hmm, I don't know anyone back home by that name."
"Why are they after you?" Athene suddenly asked.
The spry man snorted. "I think I was just an extra body they scooped up. It seemed they were after the poor sap I was interviewin'."
"Are you a job recruiter?"
"No, I'm a part of nudist colony and gettin' others to join."
"Really?"
"Nah, just pullin' your leg." Jack was about to heartily clap her on the shoulder, but stopped short of it, being reminded of her delicate situation. "However dumb that sounded. I'm actually a journalist. I report on a variety of subjects, whether it's history, politics, or even the paranormal. Sometimes, it's crazy stuff like the Sterling Hall bombings or the hippies blocking off all of San Francisco."
Cyril had almost forgotten the bizarre incident where the Golden City was held hostage by an army of anti-war, "free lovers" for 48 days. It's a good thing most of them were oblivious to the Gravel Wars; otherwise, they would adamantly put a stop to it.
"What were you interviewing the guy for?" Athene asked.
"I was coverin' a war story that he was part of a long time ago. He fought at the Battle of Castle Itter."
"Sounds like some medieval fight," Cyril remarked.
"Hah! You're partially correct," Jack affirmed, using a double-finger gun gesture at the marksman.
Eerily, that manual sign reminded Cyril so much of Scout. He also knew the RED Scout used it during battles while communicating with his friends in a playful manner or with the occasional taunt.
"The castle was built during the 1240s in Austria," Jack continued. "But the fight occurred during World War II. The man was a private in the 12th Armored Division. It's considered one of the weirder battles since you had Americans teamin' up with the Germans to protect a group of French prisoners."
Now both Cyril and Athene found themselves engrossed in his tale of the unusual skirmish. It's almost like they forgot they were abused prisoners held in the clutches of an illegal, malevolent organization.
"But weren't the Germans the enemy at the time?" Cyril mused.
"They were, though you had certain divisions who were part of the Austrian resistance. They either realized what an absolute nutcase Hitler was, or they joined the Allies to save their own asses."
"Either way, the veteran I spoke to recalls how it went down. It was almost like a brief civil war between two similar factions - friendly German soldiers vs. Nazi soldiers, loyal to Der Führer to the bitter end. The Nazis were going to kill the French prisoners, so that said a lot about their egregious nature."
"Imagine that though…enemies teaming up against a worse one," Athene marveled.
"Yep, it also happened with Operation Cowboy," Jack added. "World War II was an insane and scary time. But you had these isolated factions who chose to do the right thing; even if some of them thought it would personally benefit them."
"That's quite extraordinary," Cyril admitted. "The only thing I know about the second world war is D-Day and the Battle of Berlin."
Jack shrugged. "There's always somethin' new to discover." He looked down, sighing. "Aside from doin' that interview, I have a brother who works out here. I was plannin' on visitin' him next week."
"That's nice, spending time with family," Athene agreed. She secretly wished that she had family. Like Cyril, she too knew of her clone origins; she sometimes envied what normal people had.
"Yeah, I only see him a few times out of the year. His job is classified, so he ain't allowed to tell me anythin' about it. Not even where's he's bunkin' at."
"Sounds like Area 51," Cyril remarked.
Jack smiled cheekily. "Who knows? It could be. He makes damn good dough too. It's helped my family, especially my Ma, with a lot of expenses."
He felt bad for the veteran who was savagely apprehended and imprisoned somewhere in this building. That was no way to treat a soldier who had put their life on the line for others. He just hoped their psychotic hosts didn't outright kill him, whatever it was they were after him for.
. . .
Miss Pauling glanced down at her watch, as she sat down on one of the benches in the airport. It was already 8:45 AM. Darryl should have been here at the beginning of the hour. Oh well, she supposed he was running late. A small feeling of apprehension got her thinking that maybe something had happened.
In the meantime, she was going over her checklist duties while nibbling on a breakfast claw. Okay, so inquire to RED's request for ammo and food supply, pick up a body to bury left at Upward, and acquire some eggplant for Phase III of the weapons testing. And a reminder for a date with RED Scout on Saturday.
But, instead of Darryl arriving, it was two people that she recognized as TF Industries messengers. One was a tall, wiry man with tanned skin and black hair. The other was a swarthy woman with black hair worn in a bun and wearing a mauve dress.
They were lucky that they still had their lives intact, as the Administrator made it a point that RED was not to shoot her messengers anymore. Not that she cared enough about their lives, but it was the mini-TVs and other tech equipment that they wore; she had to keep buying them every time the messengers were shot up. Those expenses could add up quite a bit.
"Miss Pauling?" the man spoke, looking troubled.
"Hey Anthony, Lisa," she greeted them. "Where's Darryl?"
The man glanced over to his partner, hesitant.
"I got some bad news," Lisa confessed, just as uneasy. "The Solaco facility where he and the Administrator were at was attacked."
Dread hit the assistant like a sudden gut punch. "What?"
"A few managed to hide or escape, including us. Several others were killed. The guards at the facility fought back, but the perpetrators overpowered them. They had tranquilizers on hand that were able to slow down even our top gunners there."
"They also lured most of the guards away from the hideout by setting up bait at nearby hill," Anthony chimed in. "It was a collection of PoopyJoe commemorative plates. Those clever bastards. The guards ate up that bait like Piranha to a slab of meat. So, while they were distracted, the attackers moved in for the kill."
"What happened to the Administrator?" Pauling demanded. "Is she…"
"No, she was still alive when they took her," Anthony answered. "Darryl as well."
"I was hiding underneath one of the cargo trucks," Lisa explained. "I heard one of them mention a guy named Gital."
No. That twisted name struck a nerve in Miss Pauling. He was supposed to have been killed years ago in Australia. Only remnants of his operation ring, Hydra, was still ongoing in the global underworld. Some of his loyal minions had even carried out his last revenge; luring the RED mercenaries out into the open through several proxies – namely, hired professionals disguised as everyday people.
"They also were talking about some revenge on a Mundy," Lisa continued. "Whoever that is."
Were they implying the RED Sniper? If so, then the Hydra Ring and its dangerous benefactors were at it again. They knew his identity. Pauling thought for certain that the security/police agencies like MI5 and Interpole had taken care of them.
But Hydra was like a zombie starfish. Cut off all its legs, and a few of them will manage to grow back again.
"Did you get a good look at the cars they drove?"
"Yeah, one of them was a gold Ford Pinto," Lisa explained, awe-struck. "That's, like, the coolest car ever! I'm saving up to get one myself."
"Get the hell outta here, the Malibu is still the shit," Anthony scoffed.
"The Malibu is overrated! The Pinto is the future."
"Whatever, that ugly little cockroach scrap will probably be out of style next year."
"Did you see what they looked like?" Miss Pauling persisted.
Lisa furrowed her brows, looking puzzled. "Yeah, they were dressed like us...I mean, in overcoats, fedoras and shades. At first, I thought they were from our team and just snapped for whatever reason when they shot at us. But then I realized they were imposters just by how they sounded."
"Don't tell me they spoke French or Russian," the assistant groaned.
"No, they sounded American. But they spoke in Henchman."
"Oh. I see...forgot about that...vernacular."
So, some criminals abduct her boss and her stand-in for the job, then blurt out clues as to who is behind it. The Administrator had several enemies, so for one of them to ambush and succeed in kidnapping her? They were getting better in their cunning and deceitful ways.
And they're after the RED Sniper again, she concluded.
The murder two years ago hadn't been enough to deter them. But why did Hydra wait so long to make another attempt? She had to warn the team.
"Look guys, I need to call RED base." She hurried off towards a wall lined up with several pay phone booths.
"Shit, now I won't be getting that $0.03 raise The Administrator promised me," Lisa lamented.
"Yeah, I feel you," Anthony sympathized. "It's hard enough getting by on a meager wage. I can barely pay for my appointments with Judy the Dominatrix. Like food and toilet paper, it's a necessity for me."
. . .
Notes:
* The girl, Jenny, is named after the "Besotten Jenny," the Sherman tank used at the Battle of Castle Itter.
* Jack is named after Captain Jack Lee, the American commander during that same fight.
* A prototype of the BLU Scout resembled Billy The Kid, so that's what I based his name off of. Also, in TF2 lore, the historical outlaw was the first Scout.
. . .