Chapter 6: Originals And Two More
Notes: Criticism is allowed!
The Medi-gun was slung over Medic's shoulder, the Blutsauger hanging off his hip in a holster when they were making their way to the security room after taking a trip to the armoury. Scout's metal bat dragged across the floor, with his scattergun hung off his back, and Spy's revolver in a holster. Tavish was also holding onto a grenade launcher that belonged to their Demoman.
It took some arguing from Medic for Tavish to be given a weapon. Scout kept disputing that he could turn on them, while Medic argued they needed more firepower. Obviously, Medic's word overruled Scout's.
But the Scot agreed with Scout, not because he would turn on them—as if he could fight them both with how flimsy his injured arm was—but because it would do nothing against that monster. Despite this, a reluctant Scout handed him the grenade launcher after slamming it in his chest.
Though he didn't feel as secure with it as he should have. For the first time, he felt uneasy holding the grenade launcher. He expected the sensation of it being strange in his grip to fade as he became accustomed to holding it, but it never did. Maybe it was because it belonged to his cloned counterpart, or it was because it was useless against the one thing it wasn't supposed to be useless against. He wasn't sure, and no matter how many times he pushed it to the back of his mind, the feeling persisted.
"Explosions don't work on it, lads!" Tavish roared, continuing to toss bombs despite the fact that nothing happened.
Scout had already died, with Engineer assembling turrets and firing at the monster. They were cornered, and the only way out was to run past the monster or through the windows.
"I'll distract it!" Soldier shouted.
"Now how do you expect to do that?!" Engineer exclaimed.
Soldier didn't answer, running towards the monster as Tavish finally clocked in what he meant. He watched the American salute them before disappearing.
His eyes widened, and his body moved purely by adrenaline and instinct.
The Scot blew the window up, not letting Soldier's sacrifice go to waste. He jumped out seconds later, unaware of what had happened to Engineer when he fell against the metal fence, impaling his arm and briefly blacking out his vision. He passed out as he watched smoke billow out of the broken window.
He ripped his thoughts away from that memory, instead focusing on walking down the long, winding hallways to the security room, trepidation creeping into Tavish's bones.
He didn't want to continue wandering the halls of the BLU's base. There was too much risk in constantly moving around, especially with the monster still nearby and the BLU members missing. Tavish wasn't going to sugarcoat it and say the rest of the BLUs were fine, because if they had made no appearances and there was no sign of them other than the disordered communal room, they were most likely consumed by that monster.
There were eighteen mercs counting both teams, with twelve mercs' whereabouts unknown, three dead, and two clueless to what had occurred.
The Scot hugged the grenade launcher close to his chest. The quiet rang in his ears, and his chest hammered. He was only scaring himself by thinking about what happened and what could happen, but there was too much silence.
Scout had nothing to say for the first time since Tavish came, and while he wouldn't be caught dead admitting it, he was somewhat hoping to hear the Boston babble on about nonsense, because then he wouldn't need to wait for something to happen.
Something should've occurred. He couldn't have been so lucky and had nothing happen so far. But no matter how much he waited, there was still nothing.
He felt like that monster would appear around the corner, bounding towards them eagerly to consume them, just like it'd done with his teammates. They've gone on too long without nothing happening, walking around this base with no appearances of that monster.
They would've at least run into someone—at least one BLU member, but there was no one.
Nothing came, nothing happened, and that was what terrified him: the anticipation of something appearing.
Of that thing appearing.
He examined the blue neon signs on the wall, which indicated that the security office was nearby, when they suddenly heard a female voice booming down the hallway, muffled by cement walls and the distance between them and the voice:
"INTRUD—THE BASE!"
When they heard the voice, the trio froze, with Medic and Scout looking at each other before turning their attention to Tavish to gauge his reaction. They looked at each other, silently asking if they should continue, when Scout decided to walk further ahead when none of the older men took the initiative.
"INTRUDER—IS IN THE BASE!"
Tavish froze when he heard the voice, his brow furrowed as he recognized it seconds later. "Is that the Administrator?"
Her voice became clearer as they approached.
"INTRUDER ALERT! RED DEMOMAN IS IN THE BASE!"
"Is… are her warnings prerecorded?" Scout asked, baffled.
The Medic opened the door, and the three peered down the stairs that led into the main security room, the Administrator's voice clearer than it had been behind the metal door and cement wall that separated them.
"INTRUDER ALERT! RED DEMOMAN IS IN THE BASE!"
The Administrator's prerecorded voice lines repeated, and the trio entered the security room, where they came across a wall of words in square boxes, some of which were glowing: "INTRUDER ALERT," "RED DEMOMAN," and "IN BASE."
They approached the monitor, which had two single screens and several flips and buttons that, when triggered, did nothing. The three looked at the monitor with varying degrees of puzzlement.
"INTRUDER ALERT! RED DEMOMAN IS IN THE BASE!"
"Does anyone know how ta work this thing?" Scout inquired, pressing random buttons that either did nothing or lowered the Administrator's volume while not completely turning off the prerecorded messages.
"Soldier was the only one who used this," Medic answered.
"INTRUDER ALERT! RED DEMOMAN IS IN THE BASE!"
Tavish soured at the mention of Soldier, but refrained from saying anything and instead clicked random buttons, flipping switches that still did nothing. "Did he leave a manual?"
"It's Soldier, what do you think?" Scout said.
"So that's a no," The Scottish man muttered. Gruffly sighing when the Administrator's repeating lines became grating against his headache. "If this thing don't shut up, I'm blowin' it up."
"INTRUDER ALERT! RED DEMOMAN IS IN THE BASE!"
The medic walked around the monitors, tapping the sides, where they heard a faint click. Then a panel of wires revealed itself. The doctor pressed the panel back into place without commenting on it. Tavish assumed that the panel was intended for repairs if the monitor was damaged, which would've been useful information if they weren't currently in a ceasefire.
"INTRUDER ALERT! RED DEMOMAN IS IN THE BASE!"
He returned his gaze to Scout, who slapped the monitor repeatedly in frustration, eventually slamming his hand, waving his arm angrily, and growling. Somehow, despite himself, the Scot distantly notes how the BLUs were less patient than the REDs. He wasn't sure why the thought occurred to him, but given Scout's increasing irritability, he found it amusing. But he pushed that thought away just as quickly as it had appeared.
"INTRUDER ALERT! RED DEMOMAN IS IN THE BASE!"
"The freakin' computer isn't turning on!" He said, tone teetering on a shout.
"Or maybe that's because they're not working." Medic stated, holding a… oh look, a manual.
The doctor walked past them to another button and clicked it, frowning as nothing happened, before returning to the panel and reopening it. He shifted things around and waited, his frown deepening as he flipped switches and pressed buttons that still did nothing.
"INTRUDER ALERT! RED DEMOMAN IS IN THE BASE!"
"Well," Medic began, flipping the manual shut with one hand. "It seems the monitors aren't working."
Scout sighed as Tavish felt disheartened.
"Seriously? What's with our luck today?" Scout muttered, more to himself than to the two others.
"We'll have to find another way to confirm our teammates are okay." Medic said.
"INTRUDER ALERT! RED DEMOMAN IS IN THE BASE!"
Tavish glared at the speakers. "Does that book know how to turn that off?"
Medic leaned over and flicked two switches and a button, cutting the message short.
"INTRUDER ALERT! RED DE-"
Tavish didn't realise he stiffened, slumping in relief when the message was finally turned off. The pounding in his head briefly subsided, and he looked at Scout, who looked just as relieved as he did. He was used to hearing the Administrator's voice, but he hadn't realised how irritating it could be when it was on repeat.
"Why didn't the Administrator do anythin' 'bout this?" Scout questioned.
The Scot shrugged, suggesting. "She probably doesn't have control over the messages." Though that was a weak reason.
Medic sighed and returned his gaze to the staircase, opening his mouth before they heard the squeak of shoes and laboured breathing. Mumbling and faint gasps reached their ears from down the long hallway.
"What the fuck?" Scout muttered, straightening and not looking at the two mercenaries. His voice was as low as a whisper. "Ya hear that, right? I ain't going crazy?"
Tavish shushed him, and the trio remained quiet, almost still with barely a breath shared as they stared at the doorway.
Footsteps became audible, and the cock of Scout's scattergun reverberated in the silence. Tavish and Medic pointed their respective weapons towards the doorway, waiting with bated breaths.
Another shoe squeak.
Another faint groan.
When Sniper and Scout stumbled into the room. RED Sniper and Scout.
The trio stared at the duo, who stared in turn.
"Evenin', cunts." Sniper greeted, disturbing the tense air.
"Oh, goodie, more of youse." BLU Scout muttered bitterly.
"Thought ya would've welcomed me with open arms," Sniper quipped.
"How the hell're you alive, Sniper?" Tavish asked.
"Was in the spawn room." He answered.
Tavish let out a breath he had been holding, staring at the two in bemusement and relief, a large grin spreading across his face. They were alive. If two of his teammates were alive, that was enough for Tavish. Though his grin vanished when he looked over the two.
"The feck happened to you, lads?"
Scout was leaning against Sniper, practically hanging from him as he struggled to keep himself upright. His skin had turned a deathly grey, leaving a trail of blood droplets dripping from an arm wound. Scout's missing arm, however, concerned Tavish even more.
Sniper, on the other hand, appeared to have taken a soak in a tub full of blood, with his face stained red and his clothes as dirty as his skin. His bent knife hung by his side, and his vest was removed, serving as a makeshift wrap for Scout's arm.
"You think you can help Scout here?" He asked in lieu of an answer, waving to the slumped-over Scout.
BLU Scout made a face. "Y'sure he ain't dead?"
"He ain't."
Tavish approached them and immediately helped straighten Scout by pulling his injured arm over his shoulder, who muttered something incoherent. "Nah, I've gotta agree with the wean here; he ain't dead?" The lad's skin was cool to the touch, and he was rapidly growing pale.
"He would've respawned." Sniper argued.
Medic appeared at their sides, observing the younger man from a few metres away. He continued to stare at him, and when his gaze became uncomfortable, causing Tavish to fidget, Sniper spoke up.
"Y'gonna keep ogling?" He inquired.
Medic ignored him, looking past them and at the trail of blood leading towards them before returning his gaze. "It'd be a miracle if he made it in the next four hours." He said it without any subtlety or comforting words.
"No shit, 's why we came here."
Medic lifted a brow. "And you didn't go to your own Medic?"
"'Parently, he's been missin' since this whole thing started." Answered Sniper, looking nonplussed while picking the skin around the border of his nails. A nervous tick that Tavish came to discover after working with him for so long.
"Mehr geheimnis. Großartig." Medic muttered with a faint shake of his head.
"Just let him respawn." BLU Scout suggested.
The reply was instant from the Australian. "No."
"No?" Tavish questioned.
"No." He affirmed.
BLU Scout made a strange face. "He's gonna die, anyway."
Sniper gave no answer besides a firm, "No."
"Y'gonna say why?" BLU Scout asked.
"Ya wouldn't believe me, anyway."
BLU Scout scrunched his nose, and when he went to argue, Medic interrupted him with a sigh. "Right, come along then. I'll heal him to the best of my ability."
"Hey, wait, wait, wait, hold on, wait a second!" BLU Scout scowled and looked indignant, glancing between the three. "Why the hell do we hafta help these guys?"
The trio paused and stared at him; the silence prompting him to continue.
"They've done nothin' for us 'sides give us cryptic answers that don't make any sense!" He argued. "I mean, seriously, they might as well leave us for dead for how cryptic as fuck they are! I wouldn't even put it past 'em to use us as a sacrifice the second that "monster" comes by!"
"Now hold on-"
"We were told to by Frau Pauling-"
"I ain't that unprofessional-"
"Shut-up!" He shouted.
"Junge-"
"To hell with her and them! They wouldn't care, so why should we?" Said BLU Scout. "I say pack it up and move it out 'cause clearly they just need us to survive from whatever that monster is!"
Tavish turned to glare at him. "Ya feckin' bampot, if that thing gets us-"
"'We don't die' blah-blah-blah! Guess friggin' what, pal? We're facing death every day if we step outta line!" He yelled back, getting Tavish's face and pressing his finger hard against his chest.
From the corner of his eye, he espied Sniper tightening his grip around his knife and, surprisingly, Medic tensing. RED Scout was too delirious to pay full attention to the conversation, and Tavish was thankful for that. They didn't need the added violence to an already increasing argument.
"Scout." Medic warned.
"No! You know this is unfair!"
"Junge, I'm fully aware-"
"If it didn't mean I'd be killed permanently, I woulda destroyed your respawn machine and killed every last one of youse!" In a burst of anger, he confessed, anger stirring in his gaze as he glared at the three REDs.
The three stared at him in a mixture of shock and bafflement. Medic more so than the others.
He continued without regarding their expressions. "Then I would've hunted down that bitch of a manager and choked the life outta her before moving onto the Mann brothers and MANN CO. and that old hag Administrator!"
"Junge-"
"Y'know I'm right! You agree with me!" Scout claimed, staring hard at Medic, who failed to respond.
"Mate, be careful with what you say next," Sniper warned.
"It's true," he growled, turning his ire towards him. "You all would deserve it for what ya did to Spy."
"I said I'd return yer Spy!" Tavish defended.
Scout continued, as if he hadn't heard him. "If what ya said was true, that this monster doesn't kill you, it couldn't be any worse than what Spy's going through! 'Cause why hasn't he died yet?" He inquired, his lip wobbling so briefly that Tavish wondered if he had ever seen it.
"Lad-"
"Riddle me this: why was he stuffed into a fridge, forced to go through what you're too terrified to go through?" He tugged his hair back in distress, scratching at his scalp as he growled each word. "He hasn't died, and he's forced to be bodiless trapped inside some freakin' fridge!"
Silence fell when no one had an answer for him.
"Oh, but my bad, guess I'm the bad guy for hatin' your guts! Yeah, sure, hate the clone! Because that's way easier than admitting you're wrong!"
Tavish blinked when he suddenly noticed Medic by BLU Scout's side. The older man roughly grabbed him by the shoulder and muttered something in his ear that instantly dampened his furious expression.
The Scottish man only picked up the words, 'You're something better.' Though he didn't understand.
"But-" Scout was cut off by Medic staring hard at him, chilling Tavish despite the glare not directed towards him.
After a second of having a staring contest, Medic released him and backed away, BLU Scout responding by scowling at the doctor, opening his mouth before closing it and glaring at the floor.
"Whatever." He muttered.
Medic nodded in a vague direction. "Go, we'll be in the medic bay."
Scout scrunched his nose and stomped past the four, his footsteps echoing down the corridor and rendering the room rigid and quiet.
"Bloody hell, he's awful…" Mumbled Sniper after a moment.
"He isn't wrong," Medic said, looking at the three with a neutral expression without clarifying what he meant. "We'll be going to the med-bay. Let's hope your teammate doesn't die before we get there."
Medic moved past them without waiting for them to follow or answer. They blinked at the unexpected movement and sudden change in demeanour, but chased suit. They didn't comment on the blackout that occurred; they weren't even sure what to say to that.
Sniper grabbed Scout from Tavish and crouched down to pull him into a piggyback. After doing so, Tavish made sure Scout was secure in his grasp before jogging after the astonishingly swift man, who continued down the hall without pause.
Scout's head hung between the crevice of Sniper's shoulder and neck, having become limp before they reached the med-bay. There was blood trailing behind them caused by Scout's arm wound, and Tavish lingered behind them, checking behind their back every so often in case that monster was still hanging around. Thankfully, they arrived at the medical bay with no issues.
"Place him on the bed," Medic ordered when they entered the med-bay.
Sniper dutifully obeyed and laid Scout down, his already bloody shirt having become more dirty from having carried Scout. He stayed close to the younger man when Medic came closer, lifting the makeshift wrap and observing the wound without much of a reaction.
"Was his arm cut off?" He inquired.
"Had to cut it off." Sniper answered.
"Cut it off?" Tavish inquired in a puzzled tone.
The Australian merely grimaced without replying.
Medic returned to the wound and securely wrapped the vest around the limb, turning his back on the two to quickly retrieve supplies from the cabinets. Tavish could easily stab him in the back, and he noted Sniper having similar thoughts. It wouldn't take long; just one quick stab and he'd be dead. But, given his willingness to help Scout, the doc probably realised it'd be stupid to kill the only healer left.
They instead watched as he gathered supplies without batting an eyelid about what he was selecting. He picked up similar supplies to those he used on Tavish's arm, but this time he reached for the bone saw hanging on a coat rack. Sniper's complexion quickly paled.
"What're you doing with that?" Sniper demanded, placing his hand on his blade's handle.
"The cut isn't clean; if I were to leave it as is, it'll heal improperly." He answered.
"Just use your Medi-gun."
The doctor stood a few feet away, holding the supplies in his arms while frowning at his defensiveness. "It doesn't work on REDs."
Sniper responded with a curt. "Convenient."
The two stared at each other.
Tavish was the one who interrupted the stare-off. "Just let 'im work, lad."
"If he kills him-"
"There is no reason for me to kill him." Medic states, taking another step towards the bed that Scout was currently laid out on.
"You might-"
"Sniper." Tavish warned.
They didn't have time for this back-and-forth, especially since Sniper didn't want Scout dying for whatever reason. He'd also like to keep Scout in his sight after finding him so soon. He didn't want to go back to the base for any reason besides retrieving BLU Spy's head.
Sniper looked at Medic, frowning, but had no response. He then backed away and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Tavish nodded to Medic, who leaned over and brushed the vest to the side, which more blood sprouted, prompting Medic to swiftly take action.
He moved quickly, professional and precise, and with an elegance that RED Medic could never compare to.
The doctor tied a tight ribbon just above the open wound before carefully pulling the bone saw out and angling it. There was a still quiet until a sickening crunch of bones and muscles echoed throughout the room. He paused when he heard Scout's slight whimper, the three in the room staring at him, waiting for him to stir awake, and when he didn't, Medic swiftly continued.
The bone saw cut deeply and effortlessly, and Tavish kept a close eye to see if anything had been secretly implanted in him. Though the doctor was surprisingly professional. He watched him wrap heavy-duty gauze around his wound. He held the gauze for a second longer before encasing more gauze around the area and surrounding it once more in long, stripped bandages to secure the hefty fabric in place.
"I've done the best I could with limited resources; unfortunately, without the Medi-gun and his limb, he'll have to survive without an arm for now." Medic said, standing up and rounding Sniper to gain access to a cabinet. "In the meantime, care to explain what happened?"
Sniper narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the doctor, who retrieved a butterfly needle before walking to the fridge and pulling out a blood bag labelled 'B' and 'Scout.' He hooked the blood bag to a long metal rod and clamped a tube to the bag, which slowly began to fill with the red liquid. While they waited for it to fill completely, with Medic checking the tube over to ensure there were no bubbles, he turned his attention back to the two men.
"Well?" He inquired.
"Why?" Sniper asked warily after some time.
"Why what?"
"Why d'ya want to know?" He demanded, leaning close to Scout in an almost protective manner. "Even if ya don't act like him, you're still a clone of Medic. If I tell you, you'd let Scout suffer just to study it."
There was a twitch of Medic's eye, though he huffed without responding and returned to Scout, straightening his arm and attempting to locate a vein to insert the butterfly needle into when a hand grasped his wrist. He turned back to the wary Sniper.
"You aren't touching him 'till you answer me."
"Then he can bleed out." Medic answered coolly.
"Lad, just let him work." Tavish spoke, his gaze shifting between the two.
Sniper glanced at Tavish and then back at Medic before relenting. There was a tense moment as Medic tapped the kid's arm, looking for a vein. Once he found it, he inserted the straw into the butterfly needle and allowed blood to seep from the tip before slowly and carefully inserting the needle into the discovered vein once all the air bubbles had been removed.
"Scout's blood type is B, isn't it?" He asked.
"Why're you asking this after putting the needle in?" Sniper asked while simultaneously Tavish questioned. "Wouldn't ye know?"
Medic only answered Tavish's question. "We're different physically; I wouldn't put it past us to have different blood types."
"No idea." Tavish answered.
Medic didn't respond, and he positioned Scout so that he looked more comfortable. Once again, Tavish was thankful Scout's blood loss caused him to pass out. It would've been difficult getting him to cooperate if he were more lucid.
As Medic continued working away at cleaning the surrounding infected area, the three fell silent, and Tavish let his mind roam, thoughts going back to BLU Scout's breakdown.
"Riddle me this: why was he stuffed into a fridge, forced to go through what you're too terrified to go through?"
He hadn't considered it that way, and a sense of shame crept into his chest. There were times when BLU Spy pleaded for death, or they heard sobbing or incoherent babbling in the fridge. They'd ignore it, knowing that Medic knew what he was doing. Or at least, they thought Medic knew what he was doing. But now that he thought about it, he realised that the head had become a sort of background noise overtime.
What was it like to sit in an enclosed, cramped space, unable to move, eat, or drink, with nothing to occupy his mind but sandwiches, drinks, medical supplies, and the occasional noise from outside the fridge?
The thought sent a creeping dread through him.
Trapped with no escape.
What was it like for him right now? Having to hear those explosions and yells until there was nothing but silence. He doubts the doc would've been nice enough to stay behind to tell him what's happening, either.
The French man doesn't even know half his team is missing.
Tavish actually felt bad for him.
And he never felt that way for the BLU's, not since before Soldier betrayed him.
Thankfully, BLU Scout slamming the doors open, holding water bottles and sandwiches, and trudging towards them with a hesitant expression distracted him from his thoughts. He didn't want to delve deeper into those thoughts when he was already dealing with everything else on top of that.
The Boston gave off the impression that he'd rather be anywhere else, and Tavish shared this sentiment.
"Look, I ain't apologizing," he began, hovering near the door as if he were about to bolt if anyone said the wrong thing to him. No doubt he would, given both Scout's track record of running when things got bad. "But I don't want to get fired either. So let's just get this over with and go back to ignoring each other later."
Tavish didn't say anything, and Sniper watched him warily, his hand on the handle of his knife. There was a tense silence as the BLU approached them reluctantly, incredibly slowly so that Sniper didn't stab him, and held the drinks and sandwiches to them.
"It ain't beer, but it's better than nothin', right?" He offered, waving the food at them. "So just take it."
"You didn't poison it, did you?" Sniper asked warily.
BLU Scout sneered. "It ain't opened. 'Sides, doc would kill me if I mixed our poisoned stuff with the regular stuff. These're also the big guy's sandwiches. He'd also kill me."
Tavish stared at the items. He didn't have a reason to not trust BLU Scout so far, excluding Medic, even if BLU Scout doesn't have a reason to trust him.
After a moment of staring, he reluctantly took the bottle and sandwich from him, staring for a second longer and opening it. There was the hiss of the water opening, and he hesitantly brought it to his lips.
Sniper stared at him, and when a second went by of nothing happening, the Australian opened his and drank only a short sip.
Tavish would've rather had a full meal, but it was better than nothing.
"Oh, wow," BLU Scout says in mute surprise, staring at the RED Scout who was sleeping on the bed. "He ain't dead yet."
"There won't be a 'yet'." Said Sniper, tone snippy.
BLU Scout glances at him with an unreadable expression. "Your pretty friendly with your Scout, thought youse weren't close with each otha'."
Sniper stayed quiet while Tavish spoke for him. "Aye, we aren't close-close, but we've been workin' with each other for five years. Of course we'd be familiar with one another."
BLU Scout shook his head. "Nah, see, you guys are close." His tone bordered on accusatory.
Everyone in the room became noticeably tense, waiting for another fight to break out, when, suddenly, BLU Scout pressed his lips to the rim of his water bottle, speaking through it that caused his voice to echo. "Don't get riled up, I ain't tryna pick a fight. 'M just saying since, y'know, RED Sniper over here is acting too friendly with someone who could just respawn."
Sniper's posture stiffened, and his expression hardened. "I ain't letting him respawn."
"Oh yeah?"
Two things happened all at once: Sniper and BLU Scout drew their weapons, Scout aiming it at his counterpart, while Sniper attempted to stab Scout, to which Medic retaliated by pointing his own weapon at Sniper.
Tavish could only stare at the three, his eyes wide and darting between them. His own grenade launcher would be useless here unless he intended to blow them all up, so he kept quiet and out of the way.
"I'm tired of the secrecy." Scout said when a minute passed. "I won't shoot unless ya tell us what happened."
Sniper remained mute.
Tavish attempted to persuade Sniper after a few minutes had passed. He understood the Australians' apprehension, particularly around Medic, but he knew he was acting too hesitantly. They didn't need anyone distrusting each other right now, especially since Sniper wasn't letting Scout die for whatever reason.
Not to mention Tavish needed to know what happened to Scout after he died from blood loss, what happened after he respawned, why his arm was still missing, and why Sniper wasn't letting him die.
"Look, lad, I get it, they're BLU. But ya gotta spill what happened," Tavish asked, masking the desperation that threatened to leak into his voice. "They ain't gonna do anythin' to us…"
'Least he thinks so. It was difficult to tell with Medic. But he wasn't going to say that to Sniper.
Sniper grimaced, remaining silent and staring at the ground in contemplation. They let him think for a while before he sighed and removed his hat, pulling his hair back.
"Those bombs were yours, right?" He asked.
"Aye."
He frowned. "Right. I took a tumble off my nest when those bombs went off. Fuckin' nasty things shook the tower. I respawned afterwards."
Mick stumbled as he spawned back, his stomach still queasy from having fallen off his tower.
He staggered onto the bench, slamming down his kukri, which had spawned alongside him, and rubbed his tired face. The memories of his attack weren't coming back to him, and three explosions occurred within a few minutes, knocking him off his tower.
He wasn't concerned by the explosions, but more so what happened before the BLU found him. He should've remembered his attack after respawning, but he didn't, meaning that the respawn machine bugged out and registered his memory loss in the system. Annoying, but all he could do was report the bug to Engineer.
Standing up with a groan, he began trudging out of the respawn room, hoping to find Engineer and possibly Demoman to figure out why they were setting off bombs.
He wondered if Pyro had gotten her hands on his bombs or started a fire near them. He wouldn't put it past the firebug considering it happened before.
The spawn room doors opened with a moan, and the shutters lifted before halting midway through. Mick furrowed his brow in perplexity before rolling his eyes, realising it must've malfunctioned due to the explosions.
He crouched and left the room, hearing the shutter automatically slam shut behind him.
He stared for a moment longer, frowning. Just another problem to the list of issues.
Mick went to fiddle with his knife handle when he realised it wasn't in his holster, biting back a groan when he remembered he left it in the room. He didn't feel like going back into the respawn room, especially with how the shutter door was malfunctioning. There might be a chance that the room would lock him in, and he didn't feel like sleeping on that stuffy bench.
He proceeded down the corridor back to the others when, before he even touched the handle to the exit door, he heard a gut wrenching scream behind him in the respawn room, causing a ringing in his ears.
He turned back toward the room, puzzled and apprehensive, listening to the cries as he tried to discern whose voice it belonged to.
Mick hated hearing screams of gut churning agony, the type where anyone in the vicinity could hear that someone was in undeniable pain. The person's voice always had that edge to it, with a shattered scream that could result in a damaged vocal chord, and their uncontrollable sobbing or dead expression afterwards, their system shocked by the agony that jittered their nerves.
It wasn't that he felt pity whenever he heard the screams, he only despised hearing them because of how annoying they were. They gave away his position whenever he heard them. Alerted others to danger. Which is why he always went for headshots. Easier to clean, easier to keep them silent, easier to slip away without any witnesses. Efficient, professional, easy.
But here in this base, in this team where everyone died and was tortured on the regular, where the only times they heard these types of screams, were when someone was truly in pain.
"Oi." Mick called, tepidly making his way to the door.
The ringing only worsened the closer he got to the noise, the silence pounding in his head. The screams were loud, anguished, and there were a few moments where the person gasped like their head was submerged under water.
"Knock it off, ya fuckin' drongo." He told them.
He stood in front of the shutter to the respawn room, which took a few seconds to lift automatically, and the screams became more audible as the noises bounced off the walls.
"Bloody hell, mate," he said in exasperation, ducking down to enter the room. "Everyone 10 miles from us can hear you if you keep screaming-"
He stopped himself when he found a laid out Scout gasping for air, holding Mick's now bloodied and bent kukri.
His arm was missing, blood pooling around him, as there was a viscous liquid in front of him almost the same colour as Scout's skin.
Mick stared at the scene, agape, as Scout continued wheezing. He was hunched over himself with red eyes, tears staining his cheeks, and drool dribbling from his lips.
Scout looked up at Mick with wide eyes, heaving as he spoke. "Sniper, you're still alive?"
His voice broke Mick out of his surprised stupor.
"What the bloody hell are ya doin'?!" Mick exclaimed, stomping over to him and pulling the kukri from his, surprisingly, tight grip. "Have ya gone batshit insane?!"
"You didn't see it?" Scout asked in between gasps, face quickly paling.
"Don't need to see anythin' to know your fuckin' arm's gone!"
Scout lacked any answer, and Mick looked at his kukri. It was chipped on certain parts of the blade, the metal almost bent, having been used to cut at an awkward angle and forcibly saw through bones and muscles.
"Ya fuckin' drongo, ya bent the metal!" He shouted.
Scout glared at him and gritted his teeth, covering his wound with his hand. Mick observed heavy buckets of blood seep through his fingers. "I'd like to see ya cut your own arm off, asshole!"
"I wouldn't do that shit in the first place!"
"Well, I needed to!"
"What- why- in what world would you need to cut your own arm off?!"
"Obviously this one, ya numb nut!"
"If you're tryna do some attention seekin' shit, cut it…" He trailed off when he came to a horrifying realisation. "Scout, ya didn't… ya aren't… are you?"
Scout made a weird face at the sudden hesitancy. "Huh? I ain't what?"
He knelt down as gently as he could, keeping the kukri as far away from Scout as possible. Mick wasn't unfamiliar with self-harm. When he was younger, he had a habit of bruising himself by banging his head against a door, kneeing a table as hard as he could, or hitting himself with a hard object.
He had heard stories about depressed people cutting themselves. But he didn't realise the gravity of his own self-harm because they were only bruises. Still, self-harm was self-harm, regardless of how he disguised it. After becoming an assassin, he eventually gave up that habit.
"Mate, and you'd better answer honestly, were you trying to...?" He paused, trying to find the words.
He wasn't good at comforting people, and he sure as fuck never saw anyone self-mutilate themselves. But, maybe because he could respawn, he became bold?
"Hurt yourself?"
Scout looked aghast. "What?!"
"I won't judge you, but can you- uh, we should go to Medic-"
"I ain't self-harming!"
"Then what were you trying to do?" Mick asked, disbelieving.
"My arm was melting-" he stopped himself when he saw Mick giving him a blank look. "Stop giving me that look. I ain't self-harming!"
"Your arm melted?" Mick questioned slowly.
That was the shittiest excuse if he's ever heard one.
"Look, I don't self-harm; ya ain't gotta worry about that."
"Then why'd you cut your arm off?"
"I said my arm melted! Friggin' melted, man!"
Mick, frustrated, sighed through his nose. They were just going in circles at this point. He wasn't sure why he was trying to talk to Scout; it was nearly impossible when he just spoke whatever was on his mind.
"Fine," Mick relented. "I'll hear ya out."
"My arm must be melting 'cause that monster ate it." Scout concluded, his breathing having become noticeably heavier.
There was a distant voice in the back of Mick's mind that noted Scout was going to die of blood loss. Maybe he had a concussion too, or maybe he was delirious because of the blood loss. Maybe he got hit in the head and the respawn machine registered the injury. It wouldn't've been the first time someone came back stupid when respawning, especially when they suffered a bad head injury.
Mick didn't let any of his thoughts show on his face, only giving Scout a blank look.
"Aw geez, I ain't kiddin', Snipes! How many times do I gotta repeat myself?"
"You're losing blood." He said, instead of indulging in an answer.
"Oh, really? I couldn't tell with my arm missin' and all. Hey, instead of being stupid, how 'bout you go get the doc, yeah? Oh, right, we can't! 'Cause no one's seen heads or tails of the guy! Why don't you pick that stupid outta your ears and listen for once?"
Mick slightly sneered. "What's up your ass, fruit shop?"
"What's up my ass?!" Scout shouted back.
The two were in each other's faces, glaring at each other as Scout continuously spat sentences that made zero sense to Mick.
"Didn't I just tell ya?!" He yelled, looking at Mick with a look that was normally reserved for Scout whenever he did something stupid. "Pyro 'n Heavy were killed by that thing! Engineer's probably dead! Medic and Spy are probably dead! Demoman hasn't respawned, so he's dead for sure! Soldier is gone, and he hasn't respawned either, so he's dead too!"
"What the hell're you on about?" questioned the Australian. "No one can die with the respawn machine on!"
"'Parently not with that thing!"
"What thing?"
"The monster!"
"What-?" Mick cut himself off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Head injury, Scout. You aren't making sense."
"I don't have a head injury and I'm not friggin' crazy! There's a monster, and it ate my arm and now my arm melted! Dig that stupid outta your ears 'cause I'm freakin' telling you there's a monster that ate our teammates!"
Mick gave him a weird look. "Mate, you're making zero sense."
Scout opened his mouth to defend himself when he swayed and made a noise akin to a whimper, gagging from the nausea caused by blood loss. He hunched over himself, quickly paling.
"Whoa… alright. That ain't… this ain't a cool feeling…"
Mick rolled his eyes and glanced at the scatter gun in Scout's holster. Briefly, he wondered if he should just shoot him out. The kid obviously had brain damage.
"Just respawn already." Mick suggested.
"Didn't ya just hear me? I said my arm melted! Freakin' melted, Sniper! I ain't respawning and having my arm melt again!"
Mick groaned and leant towards Scout as the younger man sputtered. "Hey, what the hell are you doing? Don't choke me out, okay? I don't wanna die 'till Medic figures this out!"
Mick ignored him and advanced towards his scatter gun, pulling it out of his holster and pointing it at him.
Scout's eyes went wide, looking first at the gun, then at Mick, before his expression changed to one of pure terror.
"No! No! Don't shoot me!" Scout yelled, crawling back towards the wall and shrieking when he cocked it. "Seriously, I ain't kiddin' 'bout the arm melting thing! The monster's real! It's real! Ask Engineer! Ask Demoman! Seriously, just ask any one of 'em. They'll tell ya!"
Mick quirked a brow. "You said they were dead."
"I said 'probably'!" He corrected, covering his face with his one functional arm as he cringed away. "Just don't shoot me!"
"I ain't hauling your ass to Medic when you could just respawn."
"Please, wait! Please, Snipes! I promise, this isn't a joke!"
"Fucking hell," Mick muttered with a roll of his eyes.
He began squeezing the trigger, and Scout reacted immediately, crawling back as he opened his mouth to scream.
"WAIT, SNIP-"
There was the loud blast of Scout's gun, and his forehead cracked open, revealing brain matter and skull bone. Bone shards littered the floor, and a dark red blast splattered against the wall. There was squelching and wheezing from the open head wound until silence descended in the room.
Ringing accompanied the blast of the gun, and Mick looked down at the scatter gun in disgust. That's right awful. Barely even a clean kill. It was more akin to an explosion than a shot gun. How Scout was able to use this gun was a miracle, but still, he had to give props where it's due; it got the job done.
The sticky substance of Scout's blood dripped off Mick, staining almost his entire front half.
He attempted to wipe the blood off his face, only to rub it more into his skin.
"Aw, this is just rank," Mick muttered, pulling his shirt collar out and wiping the blood with the inside of his shirt.
After having his face partially cleaned, he noticed Scout's body vanish seconds later. The blood remained, much to Mick's displeasure, but he maintained a straight face. After all, an assassin's job required him to get dirty. But he really wasn't beating the "crazed gunmen" allegations with how dirty he looked.
He returned his gaze to the gun after inspecting the shutter, which was still cracked open. Thank fuck too. He didn't want to be stuck in the respawn room with a pissy Scout until Engineer came by.
Speaking of a pissy Scout, Mick figured he'd be pissed with him when he respawned—mostly because he used his gun without his permission—but he hoped to mitigate that anger by at least reloading his weapon. It'd only be polite too, considering he, again, used his gun without permission.
Waiting for Scout to respawn, he stood up and walked to the lockers, opening Scouts, where he was met with a sweaty odour. He scrunched his face in revulsion and covered his nose before swiftly taking the ammunition, which was in a metal lunchbox with a design of a spaceship flying through the sky.
Seizing the opportunity to explore the locker, he ventured and found a metal bat with a signature on it, along with a red and white varsity jacket with the letter "J" embroidered on the breast pocket, which was hanging from a hook. His gaze shifted to an extra pair of shoes, then to crinkled tissues with yellow and brownish stains scattered on the locker's floor, his eyes narrowing in disgust. There was another plastic container, but he was afraid to open it due to how stained the lid became with green.
He made a mental note to remind Spy to tell Scout to clean up after himself.
He cocked the shotgun and heard the empty shells clatter against the floor before chambering two rounds.
After he finished, he returned the lunchbox to its proper place and shut the locker with his foot, the stench still lingering in the air, much to Mick's dismay.
He turned back to where Scout should've been respawned by now, blinking in confusion and checking the time. Two minutes. Too much time passed between Mick shooting Scout, and he found himself frowning. He should've spawned in by now.
Another second pass, then twenty, before another full minute.
There was still no sign of Scout.
Mick found himself beginning to worry. He knew the respawn was acting buggy, but he didn't think it would prevent someone from respawning.
Shit. Did he just kill Scout?
After another few seconds passed, he heard something clack against the concrete ground, feeling his muscles relax that he hadn't noticed tensed when he saw Scout standing in the dead centre of the room.
"Bloody hell, mate, thought you got stuck in the machine."
No response. There was something wrong with him. He gazed around the room with wide, terrified eyes, tapping his chest and tugging his arm, before settling on Mick, staring at him with a betrayed expression.
"Hey, scout." Called Mick.
After a minute of one-sided tense silence, his eyes fluttered shut into a tight squeeze, and the screaming picked up again.
He collapsed to his knees, his hand hovering over his previously severed arm, and Mick winced as the cries became too loud.
"The fuck's wrong with you?" Mick inquired, his tone more composed than the storm of questions swirling through his mind.
Scout continued to scream, laying his forehead on the ground and kicking his legs out, and rolling on top of his arm as pleas began to escape his lips.
"Cut it off! Cut it off!" He exclaimed, drool dripping from his mouth, nearly sobbing. "CUT OFF MY ARM!"
Mick continued to stare with an apprehensive and perplexed expression, his mouth curled into a disgusted gape and his brow furrowed.
"I'm not going to cut it off!" He shouted in puzzlement. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Cut off my arm, please! It hurts! It hurts!" Scout cried and scratched his arm.
There was then a faint drip.
Mick's baffled expression morphed from bewildered to horrified when he saw the state of Scout's arm.
His skin peeled like viscous liquid, forming a thick, watery substance that dripped from his hand and climbed up his arm like a rash. And God, Scout was right, even though he would never admit it out of shame for not listening in the first place.
His arm was melting.
In a split second, feeling as if he were Spy, he deduced what he should do. His kukri moved too slowly. There wasn't enough time to cut it off with how quickly that—whatever it was, was moving up his arm, and he wasted a lot of time just gaping at it rather than acting.
The metal of the shotgun was cold against his grip, squeezing the handle and mentally apologising to Scout for having to use his gun against him again.
He swiftly aimed the scattergun at Scout's arm, and there was a thunderous bang.
The younger man's arm was completely severed, melting into a viscous, skin coloured puddle once again.
Scout wailed as he held his missing arm, wheezing and slapping his hand against the stump of his limb. His breathing was erratic, and whimpers left him.
"Why the fuck does that hurt so much?!" Scout cried, his head lolling back and trembling violently. "That fucking hurts so bad!"
Mick stared at him with a pinched face. He was sceptical that whatever happened to Scout's arm hadn't completely vanished, and when he noticed the ever so sloppy viscous drip from his arm again, he wound his fingers around the handle of his kukri.
"Scout, it's not gone." He spoke in a neutral tone.
"What?" He rasped, looking at him with wide eyes. "Whaddya mean? What- it's gone, I can't- it's gone."
He approached Scout methodically, almost robotically, and he observed how he looked up at him with the most pitiful expression he would never give anyone due to his ego and pride. Scout wouldn't wear that face if it didn't mean life or death, and it only resolved Mick to cut the rest of the arm off.
He spoke through gasps. "Snipes, what're you-"
Mick remained silent when he drew his shoulder closer, crouching down with his lips thinning into a grimace. Scout's eyes widened with panic when he realised what the Australian was going to do.
"No, no, Snipes—Sniper, please, it's off, it's good, wait-"
Scout squirmed in Mick's grip, and he pinned him to the floor, knee on his chest, hearing the younger man, someone who could practically be his little brother, letting out shrieks of fear.
"Snipes! Sniper!"
"Whatever the hell just happened to your arm, we have to make sure it's fully gone." Said Mick.
"Please, no, no, fuck, stop! Snipes! Stop! Please!" He sobbed.
He lifted the kukri, eyes glazing over with tunnel-visioned determination, and swung.
Mick always found that stabbing into a person was almost like stabbing into a potato; it was difficult to cut through muscle, let alone bone. When cutting, his hand could slip and slice the wrong part, and if blood got on the handle, it was difficult to maintain a tight grip. Cutting into someone required precision, which is why so few mercenaries used knives.
He was fortunate enough to have experience with using a knife, since his dad used to teach him how to skin animals. Plus, how to hunt and gut them for storage or food later on.
Cutting into someone squirming and crying out in pain was something he's become familiar with after becoming a mercenary, but this time it was different. He winced as he cut into Scout.
He felt Scout scratch at his torso and legs, sobbing uncontrollably as he cut away at the flesh with precision. There was still more flesh and bone melting, and he needed to get rid of it before it completely consumed him.
He howled at the crunch of bone, skin being carved off like it was an apple, and muscle being sliced through.
By the time Mick finished, his hand was painted red, his knife was completely bloody, and beads of sweat were rolling off his brow. Scout hiccuped and gasped, wheezing when Mick released his weight off him.
There was silence between them, Mick in pure disbelief and horror at what he'd done, and Scout in agony.
He was never going to do that again if he could help it.
Mick broke the tension-filled stillness after only their breathing could be heard. "You said there was a monster?"
Scout glared at him, tears still streaming down his cheeks. "Now ya friggin' believe me."
"Arms don't just melt." He argued.
Scout didn't respond, so Mick took off his vest and wrapped it around the stump. The Boston merely watched, gasping and wincing as he tightened the fabric around the wound.
"Is it tight enough?" Mick questioned.
"It freakin' hurts, is what!" Scout rasped.
"Okay, so not tight enough."
Mick tightened the fabric further until he felt it was secure enough, then placed the scatter gun back in the other man's pocket and holstered his own knife. Afterwards, he lifted Scout with him by the shoulder as he stood.
He contemplated if he should place Scout's arm over his shoulder, but felt relieved when Scout did it of his own accord. That saved him the trouble of having to deal with Scout getting tetchy about "personal space" and "not needing help". The kid had way too much pride for his own good. It reminded him of a certain French man.
"We need to get you to Medic."
"If we can find the guy." He muttered.
He sighed and helped Scout along, the two of them crouching beneath the shutter, albeit at a slower pace, to help Scout along, before making their way to the exit.
"There's probably a ceasefire." Mick said.
Scout scoffed, Mick practically feeling him roll his eyes. "No shit."
"There's a ceasefire." He repeated.
"Ya said that."
Mick licked his teeth, frowning and quietly suggesting. "The other base has a Medic."
"What?!" Scout looked at him with a baffled expression. "Your kiddin'! Go to the BLU's base? Can't we just find Medic?"
"You'll bleed to death before we find him."
"But they're BLU."
"And we're in a ceasefire."
"They'll just kill us!"
"We'll have better luck over there."
"Ya can't be serious?" Scout asked, furrowing his brows. "What the hell do you think BLU Medic'll do? He's just a clone! He can't even do a heart transplant! Like, seriously, have ya ever seen the guy do anything Medic-like that isn't just creepily starin' off inta space?"
No, but Mick wasn't going to admit that.
"Do you want to bleed out instead?" Mick queried. "'Cause ya sound like you want to get your arm sawed off again."
Scout's teeth clicked when he closed them, frowning and turning away from him.
"We're only finding BLU Medic." He compromised. "If we get caught by one of the other BLUs and they've no idea what's happenin', we'll bail and steal their Medic's equipment along the way."
When Scout didn't answer, Mick took that as a sign to follow through with the plan.
"Good?"
"…Fine."
"—Took a lotta time to hunt you down with how big this base is. It was pure luck we even found you."
Tavish was frowning deeply by the end of Sniper's recount.
BLU Scout had furrowed brows and was looking to Medic for advice, the Medic staring at Sniper and Scout with an incomprehensible expression, offering no suggestions as to what he might be thinking.
"Hold on, his arm melted?" Asked Scout.
"I said that, didn't I?"
"Does explain why his arm was still missin'." Tavish spoke.
Sniper raised an eyebrow. "It was missing before?"
"Aye, the lad ripped his arm off while messing around with Heavy. But he never said where the limb went since we were busy with the monster." He explained while leaning against the couch arm.
While Sniper was explaining what happened to Scout, Tavish, the BLUs, and Sniper all took their seats. BLU Scout sat on the counter, Medic on a stool, Sniper on a foldable chair next to RED Scout, and Tavish on the couch. Obviously, Sniper was hesitant to get comfortable, but with having to face the fact that they're all stuck together for the unforeseeable future, neither Sniper nor Tavish were going to keep standing for that long, especially since Sniper's entire job was standing or sitting still.
"I never encountered the monster," Sniper said, shaking his head softly. "'Least I think so. Hurt my head and the respawn machine bugged out and registered the missin' memories' in the system. I was thinkin' I was attacked by it and hit my head along the way."
Medic hummed and glanced at his Medi-gun. "If you give me some time, I can rewire the Medi-gun to heal the REDs too. That might give you your memories back."
Before Scout could interject and say something like "those nasty RED's don't deserve to be healed," Medic cut him off with a frown, which caused the younger man to backtrack with a 'humph,' Tavish watching him impudently crossing his arms and turn away from them.
"How long'll that take?" Tavish inquired.
"Give or take ten hours since I don't have Herr Engineer's help."
"Sure, and uh… what do you suppose we do now?" Tavish didn't want to take any suggestions from them, but he also didn't want to act out and do his own thing with that monster still lingering around. Plus, he didn't want to get on the BLU's bad side when he was in their base.
"I doubt any of you will sleep tonight, but rest up." Medic suggested listlessly, turning away from them while Scout hovered in front of him protectively, white-knuckling his scattergun. Tavish resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They were so protective.
"Right, rest, sure." No way he was doing that after those long ass two hours. Especially with the possibility of that thing still being around.
Medic visibly sighed. "If you want medical advice, I highly suggest getting at least a couple of hours of sleep to heal your arm."
The Scot glanced down at his arm and licked his lip nervously in thought. Yeah, his arm does need to heal, but he was too scared to fall asleep and be consumed by that monster. Nevertheless, fall asleep and wake up to find himself back in his own base, having respawned.
"What happened to your arm?" Sniper asked.
"Jumped from the second story into a fence," when Sniper opened his mouth to inquire more, Tavish shook his head. "The monster."
He made an 'o' shape with his mouth. "I'll just keep watch for you."
Tavish wanted to argue, but he found that he was more tired then he initially thought. He reluctantly asked. "Y'sure?"
Sniper nodded.
He stared for a moment longer. A few hours of sleep couldn't hurt. At least he hoped so. He nodded slowly, giving in to the idea of sleep.
"Aye. Sure."
Tavish slumped onto the couch, keeping his grenade launcher in his lap. He fluttered his eyes closed, his mind racing with activity. He didn't want to sleep, but he found that he was more shagged than he thought he'd be.
Every noise drowned out, and he felt himself droop, exhausted.
Notes:
Sniper's back baby! Also, I intended to upload this chapter yesterday, but it was my birthday and I watched Deadpool & Wolverine. 10/10 movie. One of my favourite mcu movies.
I hope this chapter doesn't diminish the threat of the monster. I originally intended for Sniper to have his arm cut off, but Scout ripped his arm off so I was like "alright," and rolled with the punches. Works out too because I've always intended for someone to have their arm melt. I also didn't intend for Scout to live, but he did, so I yet again rolled with the punches.
I also-ALSO hope no one's triggered by the self-harming bit. You'd be surprised by how much of self-harm isn't cutting but instead skin picking, self bruising (like I showed here) and hair pulling. So I wanted to portray self harm as something that's not your usual cutting, drugging, or drinking.
Funny story that happened to me a few days ago: I was cleaning out a toilet and figured, meh, so long as I don't let the bleach get inside the toilet bowl (which had a toilet bowl cleaner inside) all will be fine and dandy. I forgot about our dear friend physics, that caused a few droplets of bleach to drip into the toilet. It turned the water purple, and I thought, huh, that's weird. Went on with my day. Until I later searched up what happens when you mix the two. So now I can confidently say I almost made chlorine gas in a toilet.
Tumblr: blog/boredgrace23-gracepotts