In the grim and dark future where war is eternal, 2 great fighters were engaged in a fierce melee. Their weapons, worn and used, were discarded on the floor, a multi barreled machine gun, a pump action shotgun, a fiery red sword, a golden power claw and an ornate golden large caliber handgun. The first fighter was a true giant of a man encased in decorated golden armour, his shoulder length black hair parted to avoid hindering his eyesight. The other man was by far shorter, but still physically intimidating, arms thicker than bear legs, shaven headed, dressed in red and black combat gear, completely unafraid of the towering figure in front of him:

"Let us fight man versus tiny, baby giant." The bald man challenged, pointing his finger to his opponent. The black haired one nodded and charged forward with a bellowing war cry, only to be grabbed by his waist and flipped over the shoulders of the shorter fighter, hitting the ground hard:

"NOT SO MIGHTY NOW TINY GIANT!" The bald guy boasted. The armoured figure stood up once again, wiped the blood from his right brow and smiled:

"I underestimated you Mikhail. Not going to make the same mistake twice." Came the answer:

"Put up fists coward." Mikhail taunted, raising his own. The 2 charged each other again. Punch after punch, but it was still unclear who would win and... H... HEY! YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE... (sounds of punches, kicks and falling papers)

EXPOSITION! It is I, Saxton Hale, CEO of Mann Co. Sorry for the interruption mates and sheilas, but the narrator was subjected to AUSTRALIAN BOXING, due to being a bloody hippie in disguise who smelled funny and had skinny arms. Fear not, I will make sure that ONLY the most entertaining, bare knuckled, shamelessly comical elements will remain in the story. Now, clearly you are wondering, what is our favourite Russian heavy weapons overweight guy doing boxing with the nigh immortal god emperor of mankind? Oh, I wish it was me but, ANYWAY! We have to use this here giant time controlling device (sounds of metal dragging on the floor) and activate it(EXPLOSIVE PUNCH!!!) to see. (Cricket noises...) OH WAIT, it says 'input time period before punching' and some other small letters, nothing important, READING SMALL WORDS IS FOR HIPPIES! (tweaking sounds) There, 15000 B.C., have fun with the late 1960s my not so dear, not so Australian but relatively manly author, I am going to punch some mammoths and sabretooths into extinction! (portal sucking noise, silence, different portal sucking noise)

AND REMEMBER, TO ANYONE WHO GIVES A NEGATIVE COMMENT, PREPARE TO FACE AUSTRALIAN JUSTICE, G'DAY! (portal sucking noise, various clock adjusting sounds)...

Dustbowl, Las Vegas, Nevada 1969...

"GET THEM BOYOOOOOSSS!" A BLU demolition man exited the upper tunnel, grenade launcher at hand, only to be greeted by a glowing red missile which exploded him into gory giblets:

"NOBODY'S GOING TO MISS YOU, YOU SKIRT TWIRLING DRUNK!" a RED soldier taunted, only to have his head blown off from an enemy sniper:

"TAKE THAT, YOU ROCKET HOPPING SIMPLETON!" The aussie marksman screamed and took cover, avoiding the minigun fire from a RED heavy weapons guy...

That and a lot more occured that day, and many other days, as the mercenaries of Reliable Excavation and Demolition defended their territory against their counterparts of Builders League United, only to return the favor either in the same or another location, locking both companies in a stalemate. While to the untrained eye of most civilians (hippies) this war looked like sheer insanity, killing each other in violent ways while boasting and laughing, for the hardened mercenaries under the employ of these 2 rival companies, it was just another typical Tuesday, thanks to the respawn chamber which kept coming back again and again. For these guys, death was nothing but a minor inconvenience. Redmond and Blutarch Mann, owners of their respective companies, are twin brothers who, most likely share, the greatest rivalry of all time. Since their father, Zephaniah Mann, died, the brothers were fighting against each other over the land they inherited for well over 150 years.

No seriously, for more than a century and then some, these idiots hired mercenaries to take each other's land, without any success whatsoever. Now, I know you all wonder, how in the holy grilled sandwich with bacon and cheddar is this thing possible. The answer is simple, some good, old fashioned...(Loud thunderclap sound)

"MAGIC!"

A strange tall...guy?, dressed in a black robe, wearing a skull hat, holding a staff and a big leathery tome appeared:

(Facepalm)"Merasmus, I am in the middle of something here. So either stay quiet or buzz off, okay?"

"PITIFUL MORTAL! HOW DARE YOU GIVE ORDERS TO MERASMUS, THE WIZARD?"

(Long whistle)"SOLDIER, MERASMUS SAYS THAT AMERICA IS NOT A REAL COUNTRY! HE BELIEVES IT'S MERELY A BRITISH COLONY!"

(CROCKET, better known as critical rocket, FLIES OVERHEAD)

"MERASMUS, I AM GOING TO EAT YOUR RIBS WITH A SPORK AND USE YOUR FANCY BOOK AS TOILET PAPER!" (Sounds of quick footsteps, panicked yelling, punches, shaterring glass and more yelling)

"Ahem, now as I was saying, an inventor named Radigan Conagher was hired by Blutarch Mann to create a life extender machine. After learning about Australium, a wonder element that resembles gold and has many unique properties, and getting his hands on some, he successfully made the machine. However, he made one for Redmond Mann too, locking these 2 imbeciles in a practically never ending conflict for their father's land and the subsidiary companies they bought or founded over the decades. Anyway, from the 1860s, to the 1930s, now we focus in the 1970s and the new generation of mercenaries. Let's learn more about them...

The mercenaries of the RED team successfully repelled the assaults in Dustbowl, keeping the company factories intact and the launch facility operational. Their crushing victory earned the team a good bonus and a couple of days free time in the base. These 9 mercenaries were codenamed 'Team Fortress', the most dangerous and effective team of killers under the RED's employ. So dangerous that BLU managed to acquire DNA samples from them, at the cost of nearly 400 private contractors, 25 destroyed jeeps, 5 wrecked APCs, 2 burned villages, a vandalised museum and a looted candy store, to make near exact replicas of Team Fortress for their own use. Back to the story, behold the mostly unclassified dossiers of the team:

The Scout

Real name: Jeremy (Unknown last name)

Bio: An arrogant chatterbox and baseball fanatic from Boston, Massachusetts, and the youngest of 8 brothers. He learned quickly how to solve problems with violence. While lacking in muscle, he more than makes up in speed and stamina, able to outrun cops, angry mobsters, professional athletes and even bullets, thanks to the high amounts of caffeine and sugar he consumes in the form of energy drinks, which gave him the ability to jump in mid-air. While capable of taking the pain, and giving it back with interest, the Scout prefers to dodge, use his superb acrobatic skill and retaliate with his double barrel shotgun, pistol or trusty baseball bat.

Dependability: As he stated before being hired, all he cares about is 'bashing skulls and taking names'. High school level education, no notable intelligence, apart of legal knowledge. Enough zeros on his paycheck and half of it to his family, he won't cause any problems.

In case of breach of contract: Basic suspect in a murder case and known delinquent. Unnecessary to blackmail through family. Surrender to Boston police department, disposal in prison by inmates.

Personal note: Do NOT let his youth and snarky attitude fool you, the guy is a remorseless killer (see L street and 8th quadruple homicide case). Has experience with avoiding the law, can recite the bill of rights by memory, skilled in driving cars and motorcycles, has friends and connections within the east coast underworld. If he escapes, he can disappear forever. Also, he is almost incapable of keeping his mouth shut, either boasting, to the males, or flirting, to the females (to me).

The Soldier

Real name: Barrister Doe

Bio: A jingoistic, violent, unpredictable and overly patriotic American hailing from the Midwest. He was rejected from all branches of the US military during world war 2, due to his mental instability and anger management issues. Instead of accepting the refusal, he stole a fishing boat, made his way across the Atlantic and into a war torn Europe. After a quick lesson of how to use various firearms and mastering the rocket jump, he embarked in a Nazi killing spree, which resulted in hundreds of casualties, from western France all the way to Poland. No one told him that the war ended until 1949. There were more sightings of him afterwards in Korea and Vietnam, leading US soldiers and causing untold havoc, mostly behind enemy lines. Suffice to say, the company took a great interest on him.

Dependability: Doesn't care much about money, the Soldier practically lives to fight. Keep him under the guise that he is fighting a guerrilla war against the enemies of the USA. Give him some medals when he performs exceedingly well and keep him in a semblance of army life. While he is a great leader and has a keen tactical mind, his ingenuity has little to no application in the civilian or the corporate world. In other words, he is an utter imbecile.

In case of breach of contract: No blackmail material or known relatives. Terminate immediately.

Personal note: The US military would never admit it, but the Soldier actually provided significant, if unofficial, assistance during his wars (see Doe, Barrister, OSS case file), causing partisan uprisings, destroying factories and infrastructure, assassinating high value targets, cooperating with British SAS units, French foreign legionnaires, US marines and GI's. Rumours say he went after Adolf Hitler himself, making him build the 'Wolf's Den' due to the sheer amount of shock and awe caused by his rockets. Do NOT, under ANY circumstances call him a civilian, a communist, a socialist or anything that he considers anti-American. On a side note, he somehow managed to become a lawyer, a priest and a park ranger. His roommate is a wizard, I stopped researching after that.

The Pyro:

Real name: Unknown

Bio: Delusional lunatic, insane arsonist, dangerous pyromaniac of unknown gender or origin, so let's call the subject an it. The subject shows no willingness to remove its protective gas mask or asbestos lined, fireproof suit. We only know 2 facts for certain. It loves setting things and people on fire and cackles with a child like glee. It showed up in the 'RED Bread' subsidiary company with a job application written in crayon. Of course, the manager refused and called security. The Pyro, using only an improvised flame thrower, a flare pistol and a fire axe to fight off the security, burned and maimed more than 30 armed guards and nearly destroyed the whole town searching for the manager. Suffice to say, the Pyro got the job and the manager an early retirement to the local psychiatric clinic.

Dependability: Whatever reasons it has to work for the company, they don't seem to conflict with our interests. Insane, but smart enough to understand what's good for it's health. Shows ingenuity in the fields of engineering, accounting and business management.

In case of breach of contract: No known relatives. Terminate immediately and destroy the body.

Personal note: From the times I communicated with the Pyro, I am almost certain it is of Italian or Mexican descent. It took some time, but I can now partially understand what it says under the mask. It staunchly refuses to talk about its past, its family or give its name, but it can be really friendly and seems to have complete absence of fear. It told me about travels in Africa, South America, southeast Asia and even Greenland, it helped me with some accounting issues, even managed to cut some of our taxes by 20%. It told me about 'Mr Balloonicorn', no doubt the hallucination it has as a conscience, and how it considered me a good person. I took some effort, but I kept talking without outright laughing. No way I am dying covered in burning gas or with an axe in my skull.

The Demoman

Real name: Tavish Finnegan DeGroot

Bio: As loud and spontaneous as the grenades he makes, the Demoman was born in Ullapool, Scotland. Latest descendant of the DeGroot family of demolition men, he blew up his first set of adoptive parents at age 6. Then he was sent to the Crypt Grammar school for orphans, were his fascination for explosives, and desire to blow up the Loch Ness monster, only grew. A lot of blown up teachers, students and one eyeball lost, he received a surprise visit from his real parents. Apparently, it is a tradition among the Highlands demolition men to leave their children until their skills manifest, never claiming the ones who don't show promise. Years of training in combat, bomb making, sword fighting and chemistry later, the Demoman worked as a freelancer with an impressive success rate, a staggering body count and a bounty of 5000000 pounds on his head, double if captured alive. Suffice to say, the company didn't want to waste such talent and hired him on the spot.

Dependability: Despite his heavy drinking and rowdy behavior, the Demoman is a highly capable professional. As long as the pay is good and he is allowed to visit his mother regularly, there is nothing to worry about.

In case of breach of contract: While unlikely to occur, use his mother as leverage if needed. Otherwise, surrender him to the British authorities and collect the bounty.

Personal note: When the Demoman told me he was the one behind the July 7th bombing in the Buckingham palace (see 7-7-1968, queen of England and heir assassination case, THERE WERE SO MANY GIBLETS) I found it impossible to believe. He was drunk, don't judge me. Until he calmly showed me the queen's crown, covered in dried blood, with most of the jewels missing. He did the job alone, rigging the whole entrance with 200 kilograms of a special explosive gel, waited until they passed and blew them all up, catching the flying crown in the air. Then, he used his unique contraption, dubbed the 'Sticky Jumper', which launches explosive charges that deal no damage, hopping from rooftop to rooftop like a black, Scottish, one-eyed frog, escaping London, with the whole metropolitan police and the queen's guard after him, unscathed. Also, don't you EVER, make fun of his kilt.

The Heavy

Real name: Mikhail (Unknown last name)

Bio: 2,25 meters (7 feet, 4 inches) and 135 kilograms (298 pounds) of solid muscle and bone. A lumbering beast of a man, the Heavy was born and raised in the Dzhugdzhur (Jugjur) mountains, in the Eastern USSR. His father, an upper middle class citizen, was against Stalin's regime and a known counter- revolutionary. Eventually, the whole family (father, mother, 3 sisters and Heavy) were arrested and sent in a north siberian gulag, the father executed later on. Something changed in Heavy's psyche during his time in the gulag. From a quiet bookworm, he turned into a violent and murderous killing machine. The whole camp was razed to the ground, all guards were butchered and most prisoners escaped, earning him the moniker 'Monster of Magadan'. The following years, more camps fell victims to his wrath, along with many NKVD agents and hundreds of soviet soldiers. It took some time but the company managed to track him down and hire him, in exchange for sanctuary for his family.

Dependability: Far more loyal than the average mercenary. Not as much to the company as to the team. Has a major 'big brother' issue, wanting to protect those he considers weaker than him. Far smarter than expected, has a PhD in Russian literature and a keen analytical mind. Always alert, both for enemies and possible betrayal.

In case of breach of contract: The Heavy didn't give the location where he relocated his family. Wherever he hid them, they cannot be located even by the most sophisticated surveillance equipment, which means blackmail is difficult. Terminate immediately, don't risk capturing, he is strong enough to bend steel bars and crack cement walls open.

Personal note: When I first talked with him, judging by his slow speech and lazy behavior, he seemed like a gentle giant. Big and strong, not too bright, loyal as a puppy. But when I started asking more intrusive questions, his demeanor changed. He was analysing me, gauging me, to see how trustworthy I am. He did talk in the end, but not before telling me how unwise it is to wake a hibernating bear. He didn't go into any details, but whatever happened in the gulag during his time changed him. He is a philosopher deep down and has a very black and white outlook in life. There are the 'babies', those who need protection from the big bad world, and the 'big men', those who have the strength to face whatever challenges and protect those they cherish. I asked which one I am, he put his meaty hand on my shoulder, and said that I was in the process of growing up.

The Engineer

Real name: Dell Conagher

Bio: Polite, soft spoken and intelligent, the Engineer hails from Bee Cave, Texas. Like most of the southern good ol' boys, he loves barbeque, beer and guns. What sets the Engineer apart is his natural curiosity, higher education and talent in all things mechanical. After earning 11 science PhDs and roughing it out in the west Texas oilfields for a decade, he started searching for better paying employment. Apart from his skill at disposing vermin (coyotes, rabid dogs, mountain lions, local criminals, biker gangs and escaped convicts) using his trusty shotgun and wrench, he is capable of designing, building, repairing and maintaining many different contraptions. Under a special limitation, he is only allowed to deploy a health and ammunition dispenser, an automated sentry gun and a teleporter entrance and exit, and these only one at the time in any battlefield.

Dependability: The Engineer is mentally very stable and logical. He stated that as long as the money is good, he has no reason to leave the company until retirement. He added that he is a man who enjoys the peace and quiet and has no reason to breach his contract or confidentiality policy.

In case of breach of contract: His father, Frederick Conagher was the previous engineer of the RED team, so going after him is out of the question. No other known family or friends. Apprehend and contact the administration for further instructions.

Personal note: The Engineer also works as Redmond Mann's maintenance technician for the immortality machine. Keep under surveillance, NOT intrusive, to make sure that his loyalties don't get swayed. He is also the most cooperative and stable element in the team. Keep him content and satisfied to keep the rest under control.

The Medic

Real name: Ludwig Humboldt

Bio: Most likely one of the most intelligent, and morbidly curious, medical experts in the world. Raised in Stuttgart, Germany, he showed extraordinary skill in medicine from a very young age. He served in the 13th Armeekorps Wehrmacht, 17th infantry division as a combat medic. After 5 weeks of fighting in Luxembourg and France, he was stationed in the Netherlands until 1941. During his free time, in anticipation of operation Sea-lion, which as we know never occurred, he used many 'dissidents' in his impromptu medical experiments. Then he moved onto his fellow soldiers. While the results were actually impressive, enchanced strength, stamina, speed, healing et cetera, his commanding officer wouldn't let his division under the scalpel of a mad doctor and had the Medic imprisoned. His skill, however, piqued the interest of the Nazi regime, offering him a job as a 'camp doctor', which he accepted. He worked with many prominent 'doctors', like Hans Asperger, Kurt Borm, Heinrich Bunke, Friedrich Entress and even Joseph Mengele himself. Most of these people, along with many others, stated that they were deeply afraid of the 'Smiling madman with the scalpel'. Hundreds of experiments and inventions later, the Medic made a groundbreaking discovery, something so big that rattled the entire regime. Whatever his discovery was, he claimed that it could ensure victory for the Axis, but was considered too vile and abhorrent even by their standards. Suffice to say, they didn't allow him to conduct further experiments and cut both his funding and supply of specimens. Of course, that did little to quench the Medic's curiosity and thirst for knowledge, so he went AWOL. Following the bloody trail of mangled and deformed bodies all around Europe, SS soldiers and Gestapo agents stormed the Medic's remaining hideout in Rottenburg, only to find many jars filled with organs, a scrubbed whiteboard, some notes on paper, a medical licence and a still living person who had his skeleton removed. Naturally, he couldn't stay in Europe any longer and smuggled himself in Argentina, along with some strange machinery, 3 briefcases of notes and more than 20 white pigeons. The company couldn't let such an opportunity go to waste, spent more than a decade to track him down and offered him a deal, which he graciously accepted.

Dependability: While the Medic understands that he is an employee, his is foremost loyal to himself and science. Extremely intelligent and paranoid. He owns an abandoned hospital were he contucts his experiments, mostly on clones, and even his own team. He stated that as long as he has his own working space, enough funds and cadavers, he will serve the company with utmost professionalism.

In case of breach of contract: Dispose of him, quickly.

Personal note: In the interview, I could swear that the Medic is a sane and logical man, albeit a bit weird. When I started asking about the war and his profession however, he started telling about his experiments and discoveries with all the disturbing details and a macabre sense of humor. I called him Satan to see how he reacts, all he said was that the 2 met in a few occasions. Also, the guy is not a Nazi, he only cares about science, his pigeons and, occasionally, his team.

The Sniper

Real name: Laurence Mundy

Bio: Unlike the stereotypical Australian, the Sniper is a, quiet, lanky, long range expert who spent a long time in the outback hunting dingos, kangaroos, crocodiles and even people. His skill soon earned him a lot of assassination contracts, ranging from 5000 to 5000000 dollars worth. Like a real professional, the Sniper kills the target with 1 well placed shot in the head, no witnesses, no leads, no surveillance footage, no evidence. Things became complicated after the assassination of a Texan tycoon, where the 'Outback assassin' was discovered. After a lengthy manhunt across 14 states, he was finally arrested in New Mexico, thanks to an 'anonymous' tip, and sentenced to life imprisonment, the Australian government not wanting him back. He escaped from the prison transport and took out in the wilds again, somehow smuggling himself into a merchant ship. A drop by to his family home and a contract was enough to hire him. (Seriously, the previous company employment manager tipped the police in order to pay the Sniper's bail and hire him. Idiot.)

Dependability: A stone cold killer and true professional with standards. Also, a hardcore survivalist and tracker. Keep the checks fat and frequent and he will keep up the good work.

In case of breach of contract: Lives in a canper van, which means his house is mobile. Given the Sniper's skill at avoiding detection and ability to forage in the wild, capturing and/or terminating may prove difficult. Instead, blackmail through family.

Personal note: The subject is distrusting and borderline antisocial. While capable of talking fluently, despite his accent, and uses above average vocabulary, gaining his trust to open up was slow and time consuming. Still, I believe he could balance some of the noisier elements of the team. Also, he cusses worse than a longshore man when angry.

The Spy

Real name: Unknown (Multiple aliases)

Bio: Little is known about this man, all of it non-verifiable. Only rumors and most of it contradictory. What we know for sure is that he is a highly capable agent, he is French and holds little regard for human life. Even his face in permanently covered behind a mask. How he was hired? Simple, a day like the others, he casually strolled in 1 of our offices, dropped a job application and left. What followed was (Smudged, unreadable words)

Dependability: Very dangerous individual and an unknown element. Under special order to remain within the areas of operation when deployed, under surveillance when transporting. No attempts to communicate with other parties or escape so far, but keep under watch.

In case of breach of contract: Terminate. Immediately. Burn the body afterwards.

Personal note: The Spy is a professional at both finding and concealing the truth. He tested my ability at making logical assumptions, and my patience, in order to find out more about him. From what I could understand, the Spy was working for the DGSE. He shows remarkable skill at using guns and explosives (Vietnam veteran maybe?) and confessed that he speaks more than a dozen languages fluently. Later, he asked if anyone was after him, I answered nobody brought up any aliases or possible connections. He thanked me and left. This gave me another puzzle piece. The Spy didn't come to the company to commit espionage, he is in hiding from something or someone (Burned asset? Pissed of the wrong people? Has sensitive information? All 3? Hard to know.)

Team overview:

A diverse team with an abundance of specialisations, nationalities, mindsets and methods of accomplishing the objectives set. Each team member is dangerous on its own, but when working together, they could easily overthrow entire governments, if given sufficient funding and time. They are perfect additions for the company's mercenary force.

Too bad that all they will do is fight over fields of gravel... for the time being at least. Now, see how they relax after a fair day of work...

The atmosphere in the base was calm and relatively jovial. The day was victorious for the RED, as they succeeded at pushing back BLU. The fact that they returned to New Mexico after fighting for a whole month in Coldfront was also a welcome change of scenery. The Demoman already cracked open the alcohol and he was collapsed on the couch murmuring, bottle of scrumpy still in hand. Meanwhile, Scout was boasting to the Sniper:

"Then that BLU fatty comes out of the corner, BONK, I hit him with my bat, right in that, big, dumb, ugly face of his." He said while sweeping his arm down in a striking arc. Sniper chuckled:

"Heheheh, when will that lardass simpleton get the bloody message? Fat doesn't provide protection from bullets." The both laughed and clinked their bottles, sipping their beer. Soldier, Pyro and Engineer were in the kitchen, the scent of cooking meat strong and welcoming:

"(Inhale, exhale) Medium to well done, the only way to make good ribs." Soldier said, proud of himself:

"Whoa, easy now boy, slow and steady." The texan man instructed the arsonist, who was flipping the ribs, sausages and steaks as carefully as possible:

"There you go fella, well done." The Engineer complimented, making Pyro happily clap its hands:

"DO YOU CALL THIS BARBECUING SMOKEY JOE? I WILL SHOW YOU HOW IT'S DONE." Soldier grabbed the utensils and started flipping the meats, throwing in the air and putting them back on the grill with clockwork precision:

"Whoa, that's some serious skill there slim." The Soldier accepted the hardhat's praise, until Pyro touched his shoulder and grabbed the steak which landed right on his helmet:

"Dammit, not again." Muffled laughing followed the grizzled veteran's reaction. As these events occurred, Spy and Heavy were playing a game of chess. While the French agent had experience at both playing and predicting his opponent's moves, the Heavy weapons guy proved once again that he is more than dumb muscle:

"The check is mate." The Russian said after making the victory move. The Spy, while a very patient man and an expert at keeping his face straight, he was really tempted to hurl the chessboard at the nearest wall. However, a true gentleman always has manners and, even in case of defeat, stays graceful:

"Well, zhis was an unfortunate outcome, but a good game nonetheless." The French agent said curtly:

"Heavy agrees but what happens now?" He asked:

"I guess I will go to the study room and enjoy a fine cognac. Oh, I forgot to ask, did you see zhe Medic around here?" Spy asked:

"Nyet, doctor is busy with experiment again. Good thing he put soundproof walls." The Russian answered with broken English:

"I almost feel sorry for my counterpart. Almost. Have a pleasant evening Heavy." The Spy waved his hand over the shoulder and left. Meanwhile, the Medic was working on the BLU Spy, more accurately what was left of him:

"How do you feel mein herr? Any body pains? Nausea? Cramps?" The crazed German scientist asked the disembodied head:

"None of the above monsieur doctor, I would like a cigarette however." The head answered. Neither the sarcasm, nor the fact that he was a head strapped with a battery on a strange device was enough to break the BLU agent. The lack of cigarettes was something he couldn't take for long however:

"A cigarette? Don't you have any idea how bad smoking iz for your lungs?" Medic asked. The Spy looked at him with the best 'Really now?' face he could muster. The RED doctor relented and put one to the head's mouth:

"Oh, vould you look at zhe time, it is late. I have to put you back in zhe fridge." He took the head and put it back in the fridge, along with various organs and tissue samples:

"WAIT DOCTEUR, YOU DIDN'T LIGHT ZHE..." The door closed before the Spy could finish:

"...cigarette... Batard odeaux."

"I believe this concludes it. The everyday life in the RED base. Now we have to move a few years ahead, to more interesting matters... (Sounds of paper tearing and 4th wall breaking)

"Heyyy readers, never fear, Deadpool is here." (Dangerous eye twitch)

"WRONG FANFICTION YOU MENTAL MORON, GET THE HELL OUT!" (Swishing noise)

"Oh, come on now my dear anonymous author with the ancient Greek name, the X-Pals don't let me ride the Blackbird or join any of their missions. And no one is hiring me because there's a big alien invasion and they are all screaming for their lives and stuff. Please please please please please, I won't interfere in the story at all, scout's honor. (Cute puppy eyes behind mask)

"Hmmph, fine, as long as..."

"Eeee, thank you thank you thank you thank you, you will not regret it! Now to my friends, fans and all hot ladies out there... (Shotgun cocking sound)... this is going to be the best... (BLAM!!!, body drops)

"I gotta go fast, before he recovers."

Some years later, spring 1973...

"I AM NOT TRAPPED IN A FACILITY FULL OF ROBOTS, YOU ARE ALL TRAPPED IN HERE WITH ME!" The RED Soldier screamed as he launched a barrage of rockets, obliterating yet another squad of robots:

"NOT SO MIGHTY NOW, TINY GIANT!" The Heavy weapons guy dropped another giant robot with his minigun before the ubercharge wore off:

"AM I MOVING TOO FAST FOR YA?" The Scout mocked a demolished Sniper bot, before running away to cover, dodging the incoming grenade barrage. The RED team was dispatched to Mannhattan to protect the Mann Co. shipping bay from another robot onslaught. To recap the story, in 1972, Gray Mann, the lost 3rd brother of Redmond and Blutarch, showed up and murdered both of them, effectively claiming all their fortune, becoming the richest, most powerful person on the planet and ending the Gravel Wars in one fell swoop. Both the RED and BLU mercenary groups were disbanded, the clones disposed and the respawn machines re-purposed. Not even 24 hours later, Gray assaulted all Mann Co. installations and subsidiaries around the world with his robot army in order to get every major company, and eventually, the whole world.

"Yeah, definitely another textbook comic villain bent on conquering the world. Fun fact, he is even shorter than Wolverine."

Even Saxton Hale couldn't be in all places at the same time, so he hired the 9 former RED mercenaries to fight and stop the metal menace. The first weeks were challenging, but thanks to the Engineer's skill at upgrading their weapons and Medic's tampering/modification on the mercenaries, Team Fortress became leagues stronger, faster, tougher, maybe, smarter and more dangerous than ever.

"They also get awesome handy dandy healing factors, so that Medic has more time for the pigeons, thanks for the love. (Deadpool does heart sign then runs away).

For a few months, it was a stalemate. Everywhere the robots attacked, they were greeted with bullets, rockets, grenades, fire and melee weapons of all shorts, so Gray Mann made the super smart robo-Engineer and giant versions of the regular robots. It took some effort, but Soldier along with Spy and Pyro infiltrated the Super Land Carrier, mobile robot assembly plant and Gray Mann's headquarters. While the other 6 mercenaries were busy holding out against the tide, the rest infiltrated the carrier:

"Where is that eagle raised maggot? I have a boot with his name written on it." The ever impatient patriot, dressed in the most ridiculous robot disguise ever, asked. The Spy huffed and looked at him:

"Silence you imbecile. Zis is a covert operation." The Spy hushed. Meanwhile, the masked arsonist was keeping watch. A muffled warning indicated another batch of robots passing, forcing the 3 mercs to huddle back in cover:

"Coast is clear, proceed." The Spy ordered. A few minutes later, they found Gray Mann's office. Unsurprisingly it was at the top floor and with wide windows showing the battle down in Mannhattan. A short, unmoving old man was sitting behind the office, fingers interlaced together. The 3 weapons aiming at him didn't do anything to wipe the villainous smirk out of his face.

Before anyone could say anything, the floor underneath opened and dropped them in an even bigger room. They landed hard on the metal floor. A loudspeaker blared to life:

"Welcome guests. I am aware it is cliché, but I expected you. You will find out that the respawn chamber signal is blocked which means no more second chances. Without further ado, enjoy fighting my latest creations. They are very... friendly."

The speaker fell silent as many blue lights turned on:

"AMBUSH! WEAPONS FREE MEN!" The Soldier fired a rocket first, turning a... strange, floating, tentacle bot into scrap. More of them came, and set on fire by Pyro. The Spy turned invisible and stabbed a bot right in the visor before sapping another. A few seconds later the room was covered in scrap metal. The mercs were already healing thanks to the good doctor's improvements:

"Wuh, hudduh wu wuh hut?" (Uuh, how do we get out?) The arsonist mumbled:

"Search for a hidden exit, maybe a weak wall..." The Spy was shut by Soldier:

"Step aside crouton, I got it." The helmeted man shot the ceiling and then rocket jumped through the gap. A few seconds later, a rope came down:

"CLIMB FASTER BUTTER MUFFINS, GRAY IS STILL ALIVE, MOVE IT, MOVE IT, MOVE IT!"

Finally, they climbed out. The Spy learned long ago not to underestimate the warlike patriot's resourcefulness, not that he would ever admit it of course. As they climbed back up, their target was nowhere to be seen:

"Well, zis was a disappointing but not unexpected development, back to work. Search zhe room for a control panel or panic button." The French agent instructed. Pyro soon waved at his teammates to come and showed the office, which had a big red button underneath:

"I SEE A BIG RED BUTTON THAT NEEDS PUSHING!" Soldier shouted and hit the button. As expected the floor opened again, along with a, previously well camouflaged, secret passageway. A yelp was heard from inside. Spy peeked and, lo and behold, Gray was cowering in the corner:

"You must be kidding me." The agent exclaimed:

"Wait, it doesn't have to end like this, I..." Gray failed to beg for his life as a shotgun blast blew his head clean off, blood spluttering the wall, a few drops landing on Spy's suit:

"Mission accomplished, come on we have more soup cans to destroy." Soldier and Pyro immediately stormed out. The Spy however stayed. Something was wrong. This was all too easy, too convenient. True, connecting the hatch button to the escape room was brilliant because of its absurdity, but it just didn't make sense. Maybe it was a decoy, no, the life extending machine on the back of the corpse was real, as the australium within. A clone perhaps, doubtful, no way Gray would sacrifice so much precious metal for a single diversion. Did he have a respawn chip in case of death, nope, no brain chip found. Gray Mann was definitely dead for good, but the Spy just couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss...

"If only he knew how correct he was."

"Yayyy, now the real fun begins."

A shit-ton of years later, more than 40 millennia...

"40767 to be precise. Fun fact, the Imperial calendar starts 1000 years before the Gregorian, so it's 740.M41, not 42740."

"This is the spot Magos, are you sure that relic of yours will work?" Inquisitor Cadmus Calinicos, of the Ordo Machinum, asked:

"I am beyond certain Inquisitor. If you can see the markings, they are the same with this locking mechanism." Explorator tech-priest Aughton was holding a big golden key, the word Mann Co. inscribed on it. The bionically augmented follower of the machine God spend half a decade trying to breach the vault located deep underneath Luna. By sheer luck or the God-Emperor's divine intervention, he found a key in a pile of boxes made of unbreakable wood and wrapped in chains that he unearthed recently in a nearby dig-site. Instead of opening one of the boxes, he did the smart thing and went straight for the price. Many tried and failed to open the infamous grand vault of 'Monkey-Nautics' and Aughton wouldn't fail in his first archaeological attempt. The unimaginable treasures hidden behind these doors. Calm on the outside, but slightly excited in the inside, he inserted the key in the lock, but nothing happened. It was a shame really, right in the core of Imperium territory, filled to the brim with Emperor knows how many relics, buried in there right under their noses. Every member of cult Mechanicus felt shame when the matter was raised and the myth circulated all around the Imperium:

"A total waste of my time and yours, come on, no need to linger." Cadmus, who already escorted 5 hopeful missions a long time ago at this place, was tired of babysitting these cog-boys. Not for lack of trying per se. First came the chanting and hacking attempts, to no effect, then they brought melta charges, mining lasers, the turret of a Baneblade and even miniaturised nukes. All these failures of not leaving the slightest dent on the impregnable vault door were enough to discourage everyone else from ever trying again. Well, almost everyone:

"No wait, the relic has to be turned." Aughton said and turned the key clockwise, which disintegrated afterwards. A deep click noise later and the vault door slowly started opening. Both men stared as 3 ancient layers of unknown alloy slider doors uncovered an equally ancient potential treasure trove. The tech-priest's mechadendrites were almost twitching in anticipation. Finally, the room behind was visible, the air inside old but not stale. Not even thinking about possible traps, Aughton quickly rushed forward, to a wall assorted with various, unknown to him, types of weapons. The Inquisitor shortly followed and headed towards a row of shelves. There were many paper parchments, in surprisingly good condition. He opened the one titled 'Mann Co. Weapons catalogue'. It was written in an ancient form of Low Gothic and had pictures of various guns along with descriptions and instructions of use. There was one tiny detail that caught his attention however. The date stamp on the document was 1st January 1970:

"Golden throne on Terra, Magos, take a look at this." Cadmus took the book and went towards the giddy Machine-God believer, who was fiddling with a strange silver and red contraption that looked like a shoulder launcher:

"Fascinating piece of equipment isn't it Inquisitor? A directed energy projectile launcher. Its battery pack is long dead unfortunately and I don't know how to refill it." Aughton said to the approaching man, not heeding his words at all:

"Read it, and tell me what you can get out of this." Cadmus ordered and extended the book forward, aware that nothing else could separate a, figuratively, salivating Tech-priest from an old, shiny pre-Imperium piece of technology. Begrudgingly, he carefully placed the ancient weapon back on the rack and took the offered parchment. It only took 20 seconds for the augmented human to flip every page and read it, thanks to the mechanical arms, a cybernetic left eye and the advanced brain implants. Aughton was practically beaming in the end. He reverently inserted the book in his left robe pocket and grabbed the launcher again. He cranked a handle 4 times and took aim to a wall. A red orb of energy was expelled from the front end, scorching the target:

"40 millennia old and still functional." Cadmus said to himself, surprised:

"The Omnissiah truly blessed us this day, and there are still treasures to uncover. If I could find the STC's for these weapons... Inquisitor, where did you find this document, did you find more?" The tech-priest asked. Cadmus showed him the shelves filled to the beim with the millenia old books. He then went to scan the rest of the room, finding many oddities. An old globe suggested that Holy Terra was once called Earth and was covered with vast oceans, most of the land mass in green vegetation. A rectangular map of Terra, coupled with notes of nuclear stockpiles, past warzones and the influence spheres of different factions, betrayed the troublesome and unstable times between 1930 and 1980:

"War is always the same." Cadmus monologued and moved on. A sudden chill crept in his spine as he approached

a steel locker. A frigid wind seemingly emanating from the wall. He ran his hand along the wall and then touched the metal. It was freezing, even through the cured leather glove. He looked on the floor:

"Hmm, drag marks, could it be..." The Inquisitor tried to push the locker away. The weight and cold wasn't helpful but he managed, uncovering a long, dark and cold passage. Curiosity nagged him to see what's inside, so he turned on his flashlight and entered the ancient tunnel.

In the end of it, he saw 9 blue glowing tubes, each large enough to fit an ork, connected to machinery on the floor. These were the source of the cold, if the ice on the ground wasn't enough evidence.

Cautiously, he approached one of them, wiped the dew off the glass and saw a figure inside. Looking closer, he witnessed the characteristics of a human being, frozen inside the tube, completely intact. His heart missed several beats as he took a couple of steps back. Cadmus quickly proceeded to check the other tubes, each of them also had a human inside:

"Tech-priest Aughton, come to my position immediately." The Inquisitor alerted through his personal vox device, still shaken from the discovery. A few seconds later, the clacking metallic sound of Aughton's steel legs echoed in the chamber:

"What is so important to require my..." He was cut off when he saw the people inside the tubes. A couple of scans later made him fall on his knees and start chanting in binary. The Inquisitor knew it was better to leave the cog boy end the prayers before asking. It took about 30 seconds:

"Perfectly preserved human specimens from long before the foundation of the Imperium. Impressive, isn't it?" He commented. Aughton chuckled at the remark, further surprising Cadmus. A tech-priest laughing was something previously unheard of