. . .

Cyril had crawled over to the owl, reaching out a hand to pet him. The bird, in turn, managed to squeeze through the bars and was nuzzling up against the human.

"Oh Bubo, it is you!" he exclaimed. He never felt so relieved seeing his platonic soulmate right then and there. "Please mate, tell me I'm not dreaming."

"No, I'm here! I wasn't going to let them take you away-" Bubo began but was interrupted by Scout's appearance.

"Snipes!"

Startled by the familiar nickname, Cyril looked up to see a tall, muscular stranger peering through the bars.

"We finally found ya!" the man grinned in relief.

The marksman didn't know what to make of this bizarre situation. Who was this person that knew his nickname? But then a familiar woman ran up beside the stranger, along with an adolescent Native American and a Hispanic man.

"F—Felicia?" Cyril gasped out.

"Sniper!" she cried joyfully.

However, she and the others soon realized his horrid condition, shock slowly replacing their joyous expressions.

"Holy shit, what the hell happened to ya?" the taller man beside Felicia demanded.

Cyril was bitter. "Gital's work. His thugs did a good job, didn't they?"

This unfamiliar newcomer subconsciously brought Scout to mind. He was just as loud and informal as the runner's manner of speaking was, but without the Boston accent.

"Are you from TF Industries?" Cyril inquired.

Scout realized he was still in his disguise. "Oh, forgot about this."

He reached into his side pocket, activating a clasp that removed his false visage and revealed his true form. Cyril's breath caught in his throat.

"Scout!"

The runner grinned, the ceiling light flashing off one of his shiny canines. "The one and only!" He realized that he needed to administer the test BLU used on Cyril – just to be sure he wasn't mentally unwell again and perceiving them as the enemy team. "Snipes, what colors am I wearin'?"

Confused for a moment, Cyril then realized what the runner was attempting to do. "Blue shirt, dark pants with black Adidas."

Scout was relieved. "Yep, you ain't nuts right now."

He just hoped Bubo would be able to abate his friend's dangerous illness for a while.

"Pyro's here too." Felicia indicated the smiling boy.

"Hi Snipes!" The teen greeted cheerily, raising a splayed hand as he often saw Scout do.

It took a moment for Cyril to register that the muffling arsonist was also incognito. He couldn't wrap his mind seeing his enigmatic teammate as an actual human being.

"Oh...hey, Pyro. Not a bad disguise there."

The arsonist looked down, assessing their male avatar. "Thanks! It's not often I go around mask-less and looking like I stepped out of Custard's Last Stand."

"We're going to get you out of here," Felicia announced.

All the while, Jonathan and Martha were curiously observing the reunion.

"Is this the gang you hang out with, Cyril?" Martha inquired.

He turned to her, beaming. "Yeah, these are my teammates."

"Those funny-lookin' men too?" Jonathan pointed out.

Turning back, Cyril saw that the two Greys had appeared beside the others. He realized that they were the same ones he had passed hours earlier in the vicinity. Almost immediately, he felt an innate, familiar connection with them. It was no different to the one he shared with the alien in his feverish dreams. Perhaps, they had finally materialized into reality to elicit their own cryptic messages.

"W—what?"

"Oh yeah, we found them on our way here and rescued them," Felicia brightly explained. "Can you believe this? Finally meeting little green—er, gray men from Mars?"

"We are actually from the Alpha Centauri system," one of the aliens spoke. "Mars is too uninhabitable for most lifeforms. At least for carbon-based ones."

"Ah, so you're a bunch of Alpha dudes! Awesome! No Beta chumps in your society?"

"There's no such thing as Alpha and Beta," one of them replied, a bit puzzled. "It's a purely a social construct facilitated by you humans, heavily based on the principles of hierarchy. It's interesting you chose the Greek alphabet in designating roles within your pack."

Sergio moved forward to unlock the door and Scout was the first to dash in, ready to scoop the marksman in a big hug.

"Wait—" Cyril began, but it was too late, and the young man crushed him in a heartfelt embrace, setting off the fiery pain in his injuries. "OWWW!"

"Oops!" Scout immediately pulled away. "Sorry about that!"

"Scout, I know you're glad to see me, but you nearly cracked my ribs more," Cyril said in a tight voice.

"Oh damn! You really got steamrolled over, didn't ya."

"Short of being put through a laundry mangle machine." Taking a moment to let the pain ebb away, Cyril's tense body slightly relaxed. "Bubo says you guys teamed up with him to find me."

The marksman glanced down at the little raptor, whose dark eyes were filled with pride.

"Yep, he's one in a million," Scout agreed, ruffling the owl's feathers on his head. Bubo shivered his whole body, shaking his head in such an adorable way. That's when Cyril noticed the golden pocket watch roped around his feathery neck.

"Wait, is that a Dead Ringer he's wearing?" the marksman asked, gently fingering the PDA weapon.

Scout lifted his chin up, proud. "Yeah. I brought a bunch of those on our trip to find ya. I figured they would come in handy in case all hell broke loose. We couldn't lose our good luck charm now, could we?"

"That's pretty...nifty."

"We're all wearing one."

"Who's your friend?" Cyril asked, warily eyeing the henchman.

"Oh, him? That's Sergio," Scout replied. "He helped us sneak inside the building."

"He's on our side...for now," Felicia elaborated. "He has to keep getting drunk to help us. Otherwise, his evil, sober self takes over."

The marksman looked a tad bewildered. "Yeah, Bubo was mentioning something like that via our telepathic conversation."

"It's true," Scout confirmed. "Poor guy. It's like Two-Face from Batman. Always warring with his ugly half."

Felicia was now examining the extent of his injuries, disturbed at his disjointed leg, heavily bandaged left hand and his bruised, bloody face. "They really beat you bad, did they?"

"Yeah, kind of like on the battlefield, except no Medic to the rescue, dispensers or health packs to 'kiss it' better," Cyril quipped.

"Well, we can fix that." Scout took off his shoulder bag, unzipped it and pulled out the Shock Therapy.

Cyril's eyes squinted at that. "Isn't that the...?"

"Yep." Scout placed it over his forearm, pressing a small switch at its base while gripping its front handlebar. "One of Medic's devices I took from the armory supply room. He uses it sparingly, but I couldn't just lug around one of those big Mediguns or Kritzkrieg, ya know?"

"I sure hope it's enough to heal all your injuries," Pyro remarked.

"Me too, mate." Cyril was feeling so damn grateful for finally being rescued. He wondered if Traveler had come upon them and pointed them the rest of the way here.

"It's fully charged, so it should be." Scout aimed the two protruding antennas at Cyril's ribs, a bolt of electrical energy sparking between them. "Now, hold still, this may hurt a little."

Cyril rolled his eyes. "Medic's healed me before with this."

"Well, I never used it, that's why I'm warnin' ya."

"Ugh, great. Just don't go all stab-happy with it."

Scout couldn't help but grin before lining the two rods and gently pressing in. Soon, a warmth began flowing from the device, along with the medical cross symbols of his team's color popping up into the air.

Gradually, Cyril's pain slowly melted away. He found he could breathe better, the fractures in his ribs having been mended.

"My God, that technology is amazing!" Sergio marveled.

"I'll say," Martha agreed. "That's one helluva crafty thingamajig if I ever saw one."

"I think Rezar Corporation patented the device," Cyril opined. "They're based in Australia. Their engineers and scientists are some of the top inventors in the world."

"Australian pride, all the way!" Jonathan proclaimed, shooting up a fist. "Be proud, young man. You may be a clone, but at least you inherited some strong, kick-ass genes."

Cyril cringed inwardly at him referring to the RED Sniper. He was his own person, even if his DNA technically belonged to an enemy. Glancing down at his broken leg, he asked Scout, "Can you fix this next?"

Scout was on it, trying as best he could to mend the severe injury. It was difficult to repair since nearly every bone was shattered. Slowly but surely, Cyril felt all his torn ligaments and bones set back into place. Next came healing his broken nose.

But when Scout finally applied the device to his mutilated hand, he found it could only sufficiently close the wounds, leaving scars behind. Like the Medigun and other healing gadgets, it couldn't regrow amputated limbs.

"Sorry bro, but it looks like the Shock Therapy can't heal chopped-off body parts." The runner was disappointed.

Cyril sighed. "I would have to die and respawn in order to get my fingers back."

Scout fished around in his pocket, producing a Dead Ringer. "Problem solved." He then lightly added, "Ya want me to shoot ya dead so you can respawn and get'em back?"

The sharpshooter wasn't impressed, snatching the pocket watch from the runner. "Let's just wait until we get back to the base."

"Why? We're always team-killin' each other in battle. How's this any different?"

"I can't believe you," Cyril said, mildly annoyed. "It's not ethical. You don't blow away your teammates like you're giving them a high-five or a scratch on the back. All those times it happened in battle was accidental...well, at least the majority of them were. I could've sworn Heavy got pissy with Soldier several times and mowed him down on purpose. Or you with Demoman. Anyhow, the point is, I'd rather have Medic put me out of my misery. Besides, have some manners. There's an an owl, a lady and some senior citizens here and for you to casually blow my brains out in front of them is just plain sloppy and disrespectful."

Scout shrugged. "Your call. Just don't blame me if ya can't enjoy a burger and a coke together 'cause ya got only one hand." He then glanced over Bubo, becoming a little nervous. "I just hope Brownie warns us before you go berserk again."

Cyril felt a mixture of guilt and despair prick at his conscience. "I'm sorry, guys. I'm letting our team down with me going nuts and trying to hurt you as if you were those goddamn REDs."

Scout, Pyro and Felicia didn't know what to say in that awkward moment. Cyril could permanently become mentally ill and there was nothing they could do about it. He would have to be replaced.

"Cyril, you must have hope that you'll still survive," Bubo encouraged. "Even if it's at the cost of leaving the war. You need time to heal your soul. It doesn't make you weak. Even humans have their breaking limits. You're still an awesome friend all around."

The marksman smiled warmly, the negative feelings about the dire matter suddenly vanishing. It's like he was experiencing Bubo's own emotions and thoughts, which surprised him a bit. Sure, the little raptor was saying that just to make him feel better…but it was the indisputable truth.

"I suggest you put back on your disguise," Sergio suggested to Scout, eyeing the door with suspicion. "Somebody could come in here at any moment and catch us."

. . .

The Administrator's train of thought was interrupted when the cell's door unlocked. Calder appeared, shoving another woman inside. Her wrists were bound tightly by rope; her thighs were also secured together, making it impossible for her to fight back by kicking out with her legs.

The older woman also noticed bruises and burn marks dotted the other prisoner's legs, neck and forearms. Obviously, Gital's subordinates had done a number on her.

"Mr. Bidwell, are you going to kill me?" Athene asked.

"Not yet," Calder sneered, forcing her to prostrate to the ground. He roughly grabbed her by the hair to steady her head, before glaring at The Administrator. "You know who this is?"

She studied the young woman for a moment, but really didn't know who Athene was. And yet, she was staring right at a younger version of herself. It was like looking into a mirror with a 'Fountain of Youth' slant to it.

"No," she admitted.

Calder was slightly surprised. "Oh, I had thought you might have known. I suppose you're unaware that a clone's aging receptors can be halted."

Now it dawned on the older woman. "You mean she's my copy?"

"What?" Athene was just as surprised.

"Oh, you poor thing, being kept out of the loop about this," the possessed assistant cooed with phony sympathy and petting her head. "But then, some of these clones we trapped here didn't know at first what they were."

"I know what I am. I always wondered why I vaguely resembled-" Athene glanced over at The Administrator. "The Vice President of TF Industries."

"And the master manipulator behind the Gravel Wars," Calder added, sneering at his sworn enemy. "A rather cunning and shrewd trait that the Mann brothers certainly appreciate; otherwise, they wouldn't even bother with this old hag. Women don't usually facilitate a war behind the scenes."

Now Athene knew that there was more to The Administrator than her public image. She certainly played a crucial role in keeping the territorial disputes going.

"It's a shame that neither of the teams know this," Calder went on, haughtily pacing back and forth. "What would happen if I let out this information to the public?"

"What makes me think you haven't already?" The Administrator challenged.

"Ah, details, details. You're certainly astute about that."

"Why are you doing this?" Athene asked.

Calder paused, turning to her. "Let's just say she took something quite dear from me: my life."

"I don't understand, Mr. Bidwell-"

"I'm not Bidwell." His eyes flashed that translucent white again, indicating that a sinister soul was inhabiting the young man's body. Athene slightly backed away, startled.

Ohmigod, it's just like The Innocents! she thought, thinking back to the horror film that she and a group of friends had watched last year.

"Who—are you if you're not him?" she managed out.

"I was a director, hired by your DNA donor here to interview RED team. Then she turned chickenshit, assuming that I was going to alert the public about the truth regarding the Gravel Wars. Not to mention how she was playing both sides. She also didn't want me getting my hands on one of the RED members. In fact, you've gotten quite warm and cozy with his clone."

"S-Sniper," Athene murmured.

"Oh, you won the door prize," Calder mocked, waving his hands in a flamboyant gesture. "So, what typical thing did this bitter old fuck do to me? I'll let you take a guess."

"She fired you?"

Calder let out an impatient sigh. "Oh c'mon, are you that dense? I'm a wraith possessing one of your colleagues!"

"I had him killed because he was going to disclose the wars' secrets," the Administrator coldly admitted. "He was also a Hydra agent. He was going to disrupt the Gravel War by luring the RED Sniper into a trap set up by Gital. At the time, he was presumably dead, so I deduced his last wishes were being carried out. But I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't have anyone or anything interfering with the Mann brothers' feud."

The former director snorted derisively. "And yet you underestimated just what we could do, including beyond death."

"Gital?" Now it all made sense to Athene. Why she had been kidnapped by Hydra's leader and brought here. She was some kind of proxy for Calder's hatred towards the war's announcer; similar to how Cyril was for Mick's enemies.

"I don't regret doing it either," The Administrator spat, grey eyes mocking Calder. "I am who I am. If it meant having you – a narcissistic idiot whose head was too up his own ass to even be a competent director – snuffed out, so be it. You're no different from the many others I disposed of!"

Calder swiftly pulled a Bowie knife and held it up to Athene's neck. "And you're going to watch as I slowly cut this bitch up and make her bleed to death for hours on end."

"No, please..." Athene body involuntarily trembled, sweat seeping from the crown of her forehead.

The Administrator harshly chuckled. "You think killing my clone is going to break me? I'm beyond those lofty, weak feelings of empathy for another person."

"No, but this is a preview of what I'm going to do to you afterwards," Calder drawled out, grinning viciously. "And when Pauling is captured, I'm going to show her your mutilated corpse. I'm going to tape her eyelids open and make her watch as I violate it some more. Then, I'll have Gital's henchmen rape her for hours and then kill her as I film it."

Now something inside the older woman made her slightly flinch; she still held her ground, ever so defiant. She wasn't going to give the director the satisfaction of showing any vulnerability. But it was too late, as Calder had caught it.

"Ohhhh, did I hit a nerve? Maybe you do care just a little for your lapdog."

"You won't get away with that! The mercenaries will hunt you down before you can even lay one hand on her!" she spat with vitriol.

"We'll see. In the meantime, I got my new lease on life with this new body. Plus, I'll have my sweet, pure, unadulterated revenge."

He started cutting into Athene's skin along her vulnerable neck area, drawing blood. "No, don't!"

Her pleading eyes moved to her older counterpart – but The Administrator only watched, vehemence brimming in her own eyes. Clearly, she didn't care to object to the director's vile actions. Athene just learned a harsh truth - that her original template wasn't a nice, ethically sound person either. She was in the shady business of doing questionable things, to the point of being reprehensible. It was the same for the Mann brothers and even the mercenaries. But somehow, Athene knew in her heart that Cyril wasn't anything like these morally ambiguous killers.

Even a soldier in battle was a killer, but that didn't make them sociopathic either. They took lives to defend their homeland, to protect civilians or universal values like freedom and altruism. It was not because they enjoyed bloodshed and mayhem; they did what was necessary, albeit if it came at the cost of life.

The director's torture was interrupted when the room's intercom buzzed. "Calder, are you in there?"

The young man paused, the pointed tip of the blade pressed into Athene's clavicle area. He sighed in frustration. "What the hell do you want?"

"Myra wants to see you right now."

"What for? That daddy-fucker can wait!"

"But sir, she insists on meeting her in the Taphomet's lair. She was quite adamant about it."

Calder brusquely let go of Athene. "Fine. But this better be quick."

"I'll let her know that you're on your way." With that, there was a distinct beep as the operator cut the connection.

He glared at the Administrator before viciously smiling. "You weren't kidding. Couldn't even protest when I was ready to slash your clone's throat. You're willing to sacrifice even your own flesh and blood for such deep hubris. Fucking pride."

"As I said, murdering a copy of me won't make me flinch one bit," the Administrator sneered. "Even if you do the same to me afterwards. I know physical pain and death well enough to know that it will eventually pass. Such a short revenge you would have."

"You're lying," Calder retorted. "Even such a cold, unfeeling affront would crumble a little after what I'd graphically do to her. Maybe I should keep you alive a little longer just to see how you'll react when I torture Pauling. You seem to have a soft spot for her."

Ignoring his inference, The Administrator warned, "Leave her out of this."

The director merely smirked. "My direct murderer? The one who deserves to be mangled beyond recognition after what she did to me? Maybe you do have some weakness underneath that Evil Queen persona after all. Either way, she deserves what's coming to her."

With that, he stormed out of the room and slammed the door shut.

. . .