Kith And Kin
Summary:
BLU are clones and RED are decidedly not. They're then forced to work together when their teams disappear.
Introduction:
In this story, BLU are clones of the RED team, and things are tense between them. To make matters worse, a monster began to attack them both, putting them in immediate ceasefire and forcing the surviving members to work together.
This is a long-paced, unreliable narrator narrative, the respawn mechanics are in motion, and as a warning to the few who read this, there are elements of body horror, suicide, identity issues, and existential crisis.
The main inspirations for this story are "Emesis Blue" by Fortress Films and "It Came With The Rain" by FiveBucksWorthy2.
I hope you enjoy this. Happy reading!
Chapter 1: Clones And Existential Crisis
Notes: Criticism is allowed!
"You've failed!"
Then there were the automatic boos from the speaker, followed by despondent grumbles in the respawn room. Demoman shook his head glumly and hung his head, with Heavy leaning against the wall with a scowl.
The room fell silent a few moments later, save for the odd crinkled water bottles, shoe squeaks, clothes rustling, and the doctor's soft muttering in German.
Scout looked to his left to see Medic still healing Soldier, or at least attempting to, as the man wasn't sitting still and was tapping his foot impatiently.
"Soldier, sit still; I need to finish patching your leg," Medic grumbled.
"We are a disgrace." Soldier grimly replied, his frown deepening but complying to Medic's request, slowing down his leg enough to let him finish the last few stitches.
"Danke."
After a few moments, Medic stood up and examined Soldier's leg one last time before turning to face the rest of the room.
"Do any of you still need healing?" He asked.
Scout raised his hand. "Yeah, my hands' still broken." He said, sniffing and ignoring Medic's sharp stare.
"Why'd ya stay silent? You should've said so earlier." Demo asked with a tilt of his head.
He opened his mouth to respond before Medic came into view, his face sunken in, glasses resting on the top of his forehead, and his eyes a pale, sharp blue that had a more analytical appearance than the RED team's Medic.
"More corpse than man" is what the RED's called him, though to the BLU team, he was just a tired old man. Well, at least to Scout. Everyone on the BLU team besides Demo, Sniper, Pyro, and him, were old farts.
"Wait, how old did ya say you were?" Scout inquired, staring at Demo and Sniper in disbelief.
Everyone in the room was stunned into silence by the two mercs' admissions.
"29, why?" Demo inquired, while Sniper simultaneously responded with a gruff. "28."
Pyro slapped their hands against their cheeks in surprise. "HUMPFH!"
Medic clicking his tongue brought him back to the present.
"I agree with Herr Demo; this should not have been left till now." Medic gently took his hand into his palm and carefully unwrapped the boxing wraps, bent down on eye level. "If this had been left till later, it wouldn't have healed properly."
"I could just respawn; wouldn't matter then." Scout replied.
"Can't rely on respawn." Heavy said, speaking up for the first time since they lost.
"I agree, son. The respawns are finicky things, 'specially since the RED Engineer built it." Engie added, leaning back against the wall and lowering his helmet so that it partially covered his eyes. "Can't always trust 'em RED's to keep our shit together."
"Technically, you built it too." Scout muttered, but Engineer only replied with a frown.
No one spoke for a second, and Scout thought that was the end of the conversation before Demoman groaned as he straightened.
"Lad, ye know we ain't them." The Scottish man spoke in a low voice, almost like a mutter, as if he didn't want to be heard. And maybe he didn't. The Administrator would be down their throats if she ever heard them talking about this kind of thing.
"Sorry," he apologised, grimacing when Medic poked a particularly sensitive part. But he didn't exactly believe his own apology. "Their Scout was getting to me today."
No one responded, so Scout let Medic use the health kit in his hand, watching as the forming bruise faded. The pain vanished instantly, replaced by relief. He flexed his fingers and took his boxing wraps from Medic, who was holding them out to him, before re-wrapping his hands.
"Anyone else?" Medic asked.
When no one responded, he hummed and went to leave, and everyone followed suit, gathering their belongings. Demoman was helped up by Engineer and Heavy, and Pyro bounded beside Engineer.
Scout went to follow them, but something gave him pause. He returned to the room, as if waiting for something. Not anything important, but just something. Nothing happened, though, and he had no idea what he was expecting. He lingered in the room for a moment before shrugging and lightly jogging up behind Medic.
Sniper appeared moments later from behind a corner, nodding to the team before stuffing his hands in his pockets.
They quietly walked back to their base, no words shared between them. Not that they had much to talk about, anyway.
Staying on the field for an extra ten minutes had become a ritual at this point, not only because Medic wanted to heal them in case of injury, but also to avoid being caught by RED as they left. It wasn't because they lost to RED frequently; it was a 50/50 split on who won and lost, but because they didn't want to pick a fight.
They especially wanted to avoid RED whenever they, the BLU's, won the battle. Luckily, or rather unluckily, they didn't win today.
Scout scratched his neck and let out a slow sigh. He wasn't sure if they were lucky to win or lose. On one hand, winning meant pleasing their boss, Blutarch, and the Administrator, which meant more money and supplies; on the other, it meant pissing off the RED team, who were sore losers on the best of days and downright monsters at the worst. RED Engineer was someone they especially didn't want to piss off.
One time, they deliberately lost several times in a row to see what would happen, and while the RED team didn't say anything other than bragging whenever they were on the field, the Administrator withheld supplies and money until they pulled their shit together.
They practically starved themselves for a week until Heavy got them a lucky 4-day win streak, and in came the supplies and money again.
While they could try to push the limits again, they didn't want to chance it.
Especially because of what they were.
They were subhuman. Not even that if what RED Medic used to taunt them in battle was true.
Well, it was true, but he didn't want to give RED Medic the satisfaction of admitting he was right.
Clones. Copycats. Not humans in the eyes of the Administrator, Mann brothers, Ms. Pauling, or the RED team themselves.
They weren't humans, and so none of them had grievances about their suffering. He doubts they would've, considering they were psychopaths and sociopaths to begin with. They were hired to do their jobs, and that's it. Who cares about what a couple of clones did, right?
Spy wasn't his father; he didn't have seven brothers; his ma never existed. Scout didn't like baseball; he wasn't born and raised in Boston, and his name wasn't even Jeremy. All of Scout's memories belonged to Jeremy, the RED Scout, leaving him with only the scraps.
Their only similarities to their real counterparts were their skill sets and personalities, at least when they were first born. After four years of fighting themselves, a few identity issues, and being told daily that they weren't real, a person can change.
Scout's frown deepened, and he caught himself before spiralling, swallowing the grief of a life he never had.
The team didn't need him having another existential crisis again.
Pyro refused to speak to anyone for a week after the last time he did so. Engineer spent hours convincing Pyro that everything was fine and Scout was just speaking out of his ass. While Scout didn't disagree, he felt debilitated by having his emotions ignored. Still, Scout was apologetic to Pyro, and Spy warned him to not speak of that type of stuff again.
And who was he to ignore his pa's warnings? Even if they weren't his real memories and that Spy wasn't his actual pa, Spy was a good man who obviously cared for the team.
It was also difficult to shake the sense that the RED's memories were their own. Meaning that even with the positives that came with being a clone of the RED's, there were drawbacks, the hardships, and the pain of knowing you'll never be able to see a family member you never had in the first place, indulge with drinking buddies who don't know you, and reminisce on a time that never happened.
While they grieved for a life they never had, as cheesy as it is to say, it brought them closer together as a team. Encouraged them to broaden their horizons and be open with one another. They had no problem sharing personal information with one another because it wasn't their information in the first place, and this greatly improved their mental states. Helped them avoid becoming stir-crazy and insane from an early midlife crisis.
But that also meant they didn't have much to talk about after four years of being a team.
The Medic, slowing down to a saunter beside Sniper, drew his attention, watching as he took the gunman's hand and muttered something low to him. Sniper looked annoyed for a moment before relenting and allowing him to drop some medicine in his hand. It briefly glowed, and Sniper quickly returned his hand and nodded in gratitude.
One thing he was grateful for with the whole psychological taunting the people around them have been doing, is that Medic wasn't the same crazy doctor. In fact, he was the one who changed the most from the first year they began fighting themselves.
Scout jogged behind Heavy, trying for a smirk and asking. "What're we havin' for dinner?"
"Pelmeni," he answered.
"Uhhh…" Scout looked to the Texan for a response.
"Russian cuisine, kind of like dumplings."
"Yeah, still don't know what you're talking about."
Engineer chuckled. "And that's mighty fine."
"Hummahuhadda!" Pyro said, and Scout whipped around to look at them, clearly agitated.
"So what? I know my shit!" He defended, flustered.
Pyro giggled, and Engineer shook his head. "She doesn't mean any harm; quit getting sensitive."
"I ain't gettin' sensitive!"
"Leetle Scout is hungry." Heavy grunts.
"Aw, is the wean hungry?" Demo asked, throwing an arm around Scout, who was becoming increasingly irritated as they continued to tease him.
"I ain't a baby-"
"Doncha worry, we'll fill yer belly with those Paninis. Ain't that right, big guy?"
Heavy grunts.
"Leave der junge alone." Medic says over the laughter.
"Aye, aye, we all know your favouritism towards the boy." Demo said this, pulling his arm away from Scout and pointing to Medic with an exaggerated accusatory look. "Ain't no secret to us; ain't no secret to the RED's."
Medic arched his brow as he looked back at Demo. "I've been hiding it?"
Demo let out a laugh. "Nah, you're terrible at it if you had been."
"Agreed! The doctor has many talents! Keeping secrets is not one of them." Soldier bluntly stated.
Medic trails off with a strained sort of, but not really, chuckle as the group begins to laugh, Scout not among them. He'd argue and defend the doc, claiming that the Medic was not terrible at keeping secrets and that the doc had, arguably, more secrets than they did, but Scout remained silent. The doctor wouldn't want him to defend him, and Scout didn't want to go against his wishes, no matter how much he wanted to.
They all individually entered the doors that Heavy held open for them, the sight of their temporary base greeting them, with crates stacked on top of each other, and a luggage cart carrying larger boxes with the words "MANN. CO" ingrained in the corner.
"Home, sweet home!" Engineer said, watching as everyone stretched and brushed dust off themselves, Engineer doing so as well.
Their clothes remained tattered with blood and rips, and Scout still had dry blood on him. He pulled his collar out and sniffed, wincing as the pungent odour of metal, gunpowder, and sweat hit him. Gross.
"Hey, uh, while you guys are getting the food ready, I'm gonna take a shower." Scout said, walking down the opposite hallway from where they were going.
They all spoke over each other, though Scout could discern them, with Demo and Medic telling him to do that, Soldier exclaiming that he stunk worse than his racoons—thanks, man—and the rest merely nodding, grunting, or saying they were going to take one soon too.
Scout was left alone soon after, and the sounds of their conversation faded down the hallway.
He took one more sniff of his armpit and made a disgusted face, muttering. "Fuckin' nasty." Yeah, maybe Soldier had a point about him smelling worse than the trash bears.
He walked down the halls, the posters for the BLU team having faded with time, and the cement that lined the walls and floors stained with unknown liquids. The neon signs indicated where everything was, with stripes on the ground that inaudibly signed where to turn and where not to turn.
He walked down the familiar hall, turning left, then right, then right again, before glancing at the signs that said the communal shower was just up ahead. Despite having lived on this base for 7 months, it was still a maze trying to figure out where everything was.
Fortunately, the communal showers had spare clothes, saving them from having to travel across the building to their shared dorms to get clothes. Not that they had much clothing to begin with. They only went to a nearby town for extra pairs of socks or little ingredients such as salt or pepper, and even then, they received regular shipments, and they didn't have family or friends waiting for them either, so what was the point in leaving the base?
Upon reaching the showers, he immediately began stripping off his clothes before he entered the stalls, chucking them to the basket in the corner and simultaneously turning the knob of the shower, feeling icy water hit his skin and flinching violently.
"Ah shit! Cold, cold, cold, cold-!" Scout muttered to himself, scrubbing vigorously as he could, with splotches of red dripping off his skin and a few pebbles in his hair—most likely from rolling in the gravel during the battle—hitting the tiled ground and rolling into the drainage.
"'Course the stupid RED's want their showers cold. 'Course they do." He grumbled, furiously scratching his scalp out until it no longer felt clumped with blood, gravel, gunpowder, or loose hair.
His fingers were frozen and red by the time he finished, tip-toeing to a rack where the spare clothes were while grabbing a nearby towel hanging on the wall racks.
Then he turned to face the full-body mirror, watching himself wipe himself off with a furious expression, concentrating on his face and hair. He had hoped that the freckles on his face would fade, that his hair would be less bright, that his skin wouldn't appear as deathly pale like he'd been in a winter atmosphere, and that he would look more like Jeremy.
But when he pulled the towel away from his head, all he saw was himself. The clone.
Twisting his face into a snarl, he stomped towards the rack where his clothes were, grumbling. "Turning the stupid hot water off. Stupid water supply connected to ours. Can't even poison the water 'cause of course it takes too long to clean. Stupid, cheap company."
He swiped his clothes from the rack and began putting them on aggressively. "Yeah? Well guess what, RED? We need our hot showers too! It ain't even reached 84F today!"
"Freakin' unbelievable." Scout muttered. "Yeah, I know we're freaks. But a man needs his hot showers, even if we aren't real!"
He grumbled to himself as he walked out of the showers, stomping down the hallways with still wet hair, his hands red and twitching from the cold. He briefly considered asking Pyro to warm up his hands without torching the shit out of them. But the thought quickly left his mind: there was no way Pyro could control the fire without any damage done to him.
He continued walking down the halls, still seething, annoyed at himself, at the cold showers, and at his very existence.
Annoyed, annoyed, annoyed.
He wanted to set shit on fire, kick some puppies or whatever was the closest thing to him, and maybe break into the RED's base just to kill the RED Scout some more.
Make Jeremy suffer, choke the life out of him, and watch the light dim from his eyes.
Pull out his teeth and shove them far back into his throat.
Slam his head into these sickening concrete walls Scout is forced to call "home."
Have him be buried so far beneath the surface alive for stealing his pa's head and keeping him hostage, and, and…
"You need to control your emotions, Scout." Scout came to a halt in the middle of the hallway as Spy's words scurried to the forefront of his mind. "You aren't Jeremy; you're something better."
After taking a deep breath, he unclenched his fists, which he hadn't realised were clenched, and started trudging down the long corridor.
His entire body was stiff from the icy water, and the tips of his fingers trembled with each movement, screaming for warmth, but he felt more relaxed and in control after taking a moment to breathe.
It doesn't help anyone when he has these tantrums.
But he was so freakin' unbelievably pissed that the RED's turned off the water.
He gets that they're the winners of today's battle, he gets they're all in the middle of nowhere in the desert, and he also gets they see them as lesser than. But was it really that hard for them to not turn off the heat? To not taunt them? To treat them as human?
He reached the last stretch before reaching the communal room, or what Soldier lovingly nicknamed it as, "the living room."
Scout took one last look at the double doors and shoved them open, seeing heads turn to look at him with inquisitive expressions when he looked as if he took a dip in the Arctic ocean.
Heavy set his book down and looked Scout up and down, focusing on his face. "Is the Scout alright?"
"Yeah, just pissed off." He answered.
Medic spoke up next. "Your hands are red."
"Lay off, will ya?"
"Then don't scrunch yer face like ye want to punch someone." Demo said.
Scout felt his frustration well up again and he shot Demo a tetchy look that screamed for him to leave him alone. He didn't need anyone telling him to "calm down." He was annoyed, and he needed to vent it, or else he'll just go crazy again.
'Course his team, unlike the RED team, actually cared about him and his feelings.
"Your rage is not natural." Medic started. With a sigh, he got up and moved to the stove, where a kettle was, and retrieved a mug from the cabinet.
"Anger? Indeed. Frustrated? Usually, when we lose a fight, but rage? Nein." As he poured the hot water, he turned back to Scout and held out the mug. With gratitude, Scout accepted it and nodded, feeling the warmth comfort his already numb fingertips. "You are not RED Spy, junge."
"Yeah, yeah…" Scout's reflection was staring back at him as he gazed into the steaming liquid.
"Tell us what the matter is!" Soldier demanded. "Else, son, I will snap that neck of yours!"
For some reason, he didn't want to tell them that the heat was turned off. It was on the tip of his tongue, he could easily say the words, and it wasn't that they wouldn't believe him, but he just couldn't get the words out.
"Maggot! Tell us what is the matter!" Soldier demanded.
The feeling was still there. His thoughts screamed for him to not say the words. But why?
"Lad?"
Scout grimaced, clutching the mug with an uncomfortable look. "Just, uh, just pissed 'cause the other guys turned off the hot water." The creeping dread of something being wrong with those words bothered him to no end. But still, there was no answer as to what was wrong with the words.
Everyone's eyes grew wide, and they all started to get irritated at once, speaking over each other in frustration.
Soldier abruptly stood up and began storming to the door. "I WILL KILL THOSE RED'S WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON THEM! THEY WILL BE CRYING TO THEIR MOMMY'S BY MONDAY!"
"Да," Heavy stood up and began walking behind Soldier. "Make them hurt."
Just before the two left the room, Engineer called out to them. "Hold it!"
"What is it?" Heavy inquired.
"We can just turn the water on. I don't see any use pickin' a fight 'round this time." Explained Engineer. He then leaned back and hummed. "On the bright side, the next base will have a separate water supply from what I heard. So why don't you boys settle down and wait till we move out next week?"
"We'll still have cold water for the week." Sniper said.
"Then one of us can go turn it back on." The Texan suggested.
Medic frowned and leaned against the wall. "It would be useful to have Spy right now…"
Scout froze at the mention of Spy.
"Aye, the lad could sneak there and back. No problem."
"But the Spy has been captured!" Soldier yelled, tapping his arm repeatedly as he looked down with gritted teeth. "We must be men and go turn it on ourselves!"
The conversation trailed off, and everyone looked at the ground in thought. Scout didn't need to be a genius to figure out what they were all thinking. The water supply was on the outskirts of the battlefield's territory, and not to mention someone would need to travel in the middle of the field to turn the boiler back on.
Scout put his mug down on a nearby coffee table and let out a sigh through his nose. "I can just go turn the water back on."
"Nein, what if it's a trap?"
"I can just run there and back."
"Scout is stealthy like elephant." Heavy stated.
"It's just turning a valve." He argued.
"Will ye even be strong enough to turn it?" Demo asked, and Pyro let out a giggle and a quick 'hudda!'
"Screw you guys!" He crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders. "I'm strong!"
He wasn't a kid, and he didn't need to be protected anymore. Hell, he was much more bulky compared to his real counterpart, with enough arm strength to even pop the RED Soldier's head right off! Plus, there was the respawn machine in case one of the RED's managed to kill him.
He was about to argue this when Medic bent forward and pinched the bridge of his nose, Scout smirking in realisation that he had won this argument.
"I'll accompany you to switch it back on." Medic compromised, pulling the hems of his clothes to straighten them. He's still not sure how the doctor can wear turtlenecks in this weather. But whatever makes the doc happy, he supposed.
Heavy furrowed his brows. "Will doktor be alright?"
"Ja." He responded. "Scout is somewhat good at protecting me—"
"Somewhat?"
"—unlike a certain someone."
Medic turned to give Soldier a scowl, his forehead creasing, as Soldier, at the very least, looked abashed and somewhat ashamed. Knowing Soldier, though, his embarrassed look might be just him judging Medic. Scout cut him off just as he opened his mouth to respond with something.
"Better than nothin'." Scout replied. And he meant it. If he were still Jeremy, he would've gotten pettish and testy with Medic, probing him to see if he was trying to imply that Scout was useless.
Medic straightened his glasses and stood next to Scout. "We'll return in 20."
"Quick as a bunny, then. Supper will be done soon." Engineer responded.
Medic turned away from Scout, who waved to the mercenaries while the doctor went through the double doors. The younger man quickly trailed after him, and blabbered away about whatever he found interesting, trying to smother the dread creeping into his chest.
"—and Scout just, ugh. He said I didn't even matter before killing me. Seriously, it makes me just wanna-" Scout scrunched his hands together in a squishing motion, making a squelching noise with his mouth. "You know?"
"We all want to do that with our counterparts." Answered Medic.
"But do they always hafta do that?"
"What do you mean?"
"Just the whole taunting thing." He pursed his lips. "It's so… ugh. Y'know, just, ugh."
Medic huffed and slightly nodded. "I understand what you mean."
"By the way, what do you think that dumping thing Heavy's gonna cook tonights' gonna taste like? Do you think it'll taste like pasta? We haven't had pasta inna while; we should totally cook some tomorrow. Some of that spaghettio with the tomato sauce! Soldier makes the best spaghetti when Pyro isn't cooking with him. Pyro can't cook for… shit…"
Scout trailed off when he noticed something red near the fence, blood trailing from afar to the thing. Medic gave Scout a questioning look before shifting his gaze to the red object.
"What's that?" He asked, and Medic merely shrugged.
With caution, they approached the thing, and as soon as they did, Scout's mouth fell open.
"Oh shit, that's Sniper."
Mick never thought much of the BLU team. They were just clones, after all. Designed to be their opponents in a meaningless war. That's why when he woke up, his vision blurry, his brain blistering from a headache like he'd just woken up from a hangover, and several burning questions about what had happened, he thought it was strange that they hadn't killed him already.
He narrowed his eyes and focused intently on his feet. What… happened? He tried to remember what he had been doing, but the more he thought about it, the worse his headache became.
"Arvo, cunts." Mick started. He reached up to wipe his burning eyes, hissing when he tapped a particularly sensitive part of his cheek. "Gonna take me out soon?"
BLU Scout was clutching his chest, eyes wide, and breathing heavily, leaning away from Mick as if frightened by something, while Medic stared down at him with the creepy blank stare he had grown accustomed to seeing on the field.
"I thought you were dead!" Scout yelled, and Mick winced from the volume.
"You might be if you don't quiet down." He murmured, each word grating against his vocal chords.
Medic crouched down to his eye level and examined him, humming non-committedly before flicking his ribcage. Mick's vision blacked out, and he exclaimed in shock and pain. The Australian collapsed and clutched his ribs, feeling them rub and puncture what he thought were his lungs while coughing violently.
"BLOODY HELL!" He shouted, then turned to Medic with a scathing glare, before his glare was replaced with slight fear.
Oh.
Shit.
It was common for his team to avoid expressing pain around Medic unless they were on the field. If they did, the doctor would only cause them more pain by attempting to "heal them." They were all aware that he took pleasure in causing them as much pain as humanly possible for "scientific progress!", and it didn't help that the doctor would temporarily surgically remove their vocal cords if their screams became too "noisy."
Mick felt bad for Heavy, the big guy being Medic's main lab rat. But Heavy didn't care and continued to let the doctor rummage through his innards and add or remove whatever he wanted. When asked why, he replied, "Is because Doktor outsmart bullet."
But Mick wasn't the one who held such high respect for the doctor. The doctor could go fuck off to woop woop for all he cared.
He didn't dare say anything else, not wanting to give Medic any satisfaction that he caused pain. No doubt if he expressed his pain any further, the doctor would press his hand against his shattered ribs until all of them protruded from his back like some twisted angel wings.
So only glaring at him it was, then. Brilliant.
But the doc didn't do any of that, instead suggesting in a surprisingly mousy-like voice, opposite of his normal impassive gait. "It might be best for you to respawn."
He blinked in shock at the neutral attitude. Alright, then, not similar to his Medic. Noted.
"Was 'bout to." Ah shit. He was beginning to slur.
He pulled out a flimsy pistol from his pocket, pointing it to his head before Scout, ever the little bug he was, kicked it away. "Before you do that, what got you so beat up?"
"How'm I s'pose…" He took a deep breath that shuddered his insides. "To know?"
"Concussion," BLU Medic muttered.
Scout ignored the doctor and groaned, hanging his head. "Just tell us." He grumbled. "We 'least deserve that after you all turned off the heat."
Mick looked between the two, bewildered.
"What're you on 'bout?"
"Seriously? The water was cold when I turned it on." Scout answered, his nose scrunched in exasperation. "We need our hot showers too!"
"Nah, mate, no clue." He replied. "Thought you were the ones to… to turn it off."
"You're lying-"
"Scout, he's not lying." Medic intervened before Scout could get any more words in.
"Well, couldn't've been a ghost!"
"Wasn' us..." Mick was practically hunched over, finding it difficult to keep his eyes open while feeling a familiar, deathly chill run through his veins. He spared a glance at the two through hooded eyes. "Mind if you let me die now?"
Scout scratched his neck and looked up in consideration, and it was obvious the little shit was pondering if he should let him die a painful death, only to look at Medic, perplexed, when he pointed the pistol that Mick hadn't realised was picked up from the ground at him.
"What're ya doin', doc? Just let him suffer."
Mick sneered at Scout. "Thanks…"
"We have no time for this; dinner will be done soon." Medic replied.
There was a pop that echoed throughout the desert.
Mick awoke to find himself in the darkened respawn room, feeling downright awful, both from the lingering ghost pain and the sense that something was wrong.
He gazed about the room, staring at the corners, the vents, and the lockers, but nothing was amiss, yet he still felt that telltale sign of wrongness. He furrowed his brows and reluctantly let the feeling be. If he can't do anything about the feeling now, he'll deal with it later.
Mick stretched his sore muscles, shaking out his arms, which felt like a venomous snake in his sleep had bitten him, and cracked his fingers before shaking out his muscles again. He made a mental note to inform Engineer about the lingering pain after respawning.
When Mick finished, he began making his way back to the tower. Or rather, his "nest."
Meeting back up with the others held no point for him as he didn't want to deal with their scorn or mocks if he had to tell them he was killed. Additionally, returning to the boiler seemed pointless to him if the BLU's were taking care of it. However, he planned to keep an eye on them in case they tampered with the valve.
He'd be happy if the BLUs left the pistol alone, though. It wasn't a particularly good gun. But it was one of Spy's extras, and he'd rather not deal with a pissed-off Spy if he discovered he stole the gun. He'd probably say something like, "It cost ten-bajillion US and Japanese dollars! Made from iron ore found in Brazil! And meticulously crafted by the best smithy in the entire world!" And that's something he'd rather deal with when blackout drunk.
Speaking of which…
He scratched his hair beneath his hat, the corners of his lips tilting downward as he reflected on what had transpired before and after he went to turn the heat on. Mick recalls the team's frustration with BLU turning off the heater, him offering to turn the boiler back on, and walking towards the boiler itself, but anything else afterwards came up blank.
He attempted to recall what happened before the BLU's found him. The memory felt distant to him, as if a black border, detached and ambiguous like a faded portrait, surrounded it. The only thing that came to mind was gravel being kicked up as he ran while shooting wildly at something.
It irritated him greatly that he couldn't recall what had happened, but there wasn't much he could do about it other than investigate in the morning.
He worked his way up the rickety ladders to his nest; the wood creaking beneath him and the wind whistling past his ears. Fortunately, if what the BLU Medic said was true and their dinner was almost ready, it meant their sniper was inside their base, which meant Mick wouldn't be shot down and have to stay in his van for the rest of the night.
It was almost annoying to have to deal with his own clone. They both knew what the other was doing, what they were thinking, what they were planning, and what future actions they intended to take. It didn't help that the clone knew everything he knew. At the very least, he was a professional, and those in his field keep their secrets close to their chests. If his clone truly thought like him, he would keep to that code.
When he reached the top and had an overview of the entire field, he noticed two blue specks surrounding a metal-like object. Mick lay on his stomach, pulling out an extra scope from his pocket and peering through the lens to observe the two clones.
BLU Scout was turning the valve while his Medic stood there stiff as a board. It was almost creepy to see him, Medic, outside of battles.
Sure, he was vaguely aware that the clones were different from them after the first year of combat, but he wasn't sure how different they were. How much they've changed over the last four years.
He didn't exactly care to investigate.
They were somewhat different in appearance, all of them having different features that made the clones look more like distant relatives. Even his own clone looked older, with a beard and darker hair colour.
But seeing Medic be all… still like that.
It was unsettling.
Nonetheless, Mick continued to watch them.
He watched Scout lurch forward when he finally got the valve to pivot, then shifted to look at Medic and exchanged some words with him with an annoyed expression before closing his mouth, and returning to the valve. He shoved the wheel with some effort, and after a few seconds, Medic raised his hand, causing Scout to stop and back off, dusting his hands.
Scout then turned back to Medic and spoke some more, smirking and tilting his head, almost contemptuous. Afterwards, Scout looked at the thermometer on the side of the boiler, nodding to himself, before jogging after Medic, who was stalking away.
So obviously, BLU didn't turn off the heat.
Mick's brow furrowed, and he pocketed his scope.
He wasn't sure why he was so focused on this, but there was a nagging suspicion that something was wrong. Whispering in the back of his mind that he shouldn't leave this alone and that he needed to know now. And he was starting to feel like Spy, in that he needed to be nosy.
But there wasn't much he could do right now. He'd hate to ask him this, but Spy would probably know more about what to do in a situation like this.
Before Mick could plan ahead for tomorrow, something powerful jerked the tower, and he immediately sat up into a crouch, alert. He hunched as he futilely attempted to regain his balance from the trembling building, stumbling away from the edge to not fall.
'Earthquake?' He thought to himself, checking BLU's base to see if they were experiencing the same problems. Unfortunately, they weren't, which meant someone got their hands on one of Demo's explosions. Again.
He went to investigate what was going on, but another explosion jolted the tower. He tripped over his own foot like an amateur, landing on his ass, before the building rattled and he teetered backwards off the ledge of his overlook.
A yell ripped out from him, and he flailed his arms in a feeble attempt to catch his balance… while falling. If anyone saw, they'd laugh at him for trying to catch himself in the air.
Mick noticed the stars above him—billions of planets shining in the eerie night sky. His eyes shone as he saw the blinking lights, falling further away from the tower's edge.
His last thoughts before he hit the ground were, 'Bloody hell, I need to remember to ask for a fence on that damn thing.'
There was a sickening bang as he hit the ground.
Notes:
Let's keep track of how many times I can kill Sniper without completely killing him.
Here's a fun fact about me: before I got deep into the TF2 community, I thought Ms. Pauling was Scout's mother, and both she and Spy were hiding it from him. At the same time, I knew Scout had a crush on Ms. Pauling. I later realised I was an idiot.
Tumblr: https/blog/boredgrace23-gracepotts