Chapter 8: Clones And One More
Notes: Criticism is allowed!
(I'm sorry for some reason the italics and bold aren't working on this site, I'll try to see if I can update this chapter later)
(AM BACK! I had to just go through the entire document and edit in the italics and bold myself. Hopefully this glitch doesn't carry over to other chapters)
"We oughta just kill Medic, get Scout back and get the hell outta here, mate." Mick suggested, staring down the long corridors with an increasing frown. "They don't care for us, and we don't care for them."
"Ye should be easier on 'em, mate. Those poor bastards have it rough, ya ken?" Demo's expression pinched into a grimace. "Best we keep that blasted creature off their hide."
He doesn't see why he should care about them being eaten by that monster. They were clones. Medic could always make more. It beat the purpose of them being replaceable.
"Lad, if that thing gets 'em, that monster'll…" Demoman trailed off with a shake of his head. "It ain't gonna do us any good, that's for sure."
"What're ya talking about?" Mick questioned.
His response was brief. "It ain't good, 's all."
He didn't push for an answer. When Demoman refused to talk about something, it was next to impossible to get an answer from him. Spy, Soldier, and almost everyone else on the team have tried to get an answer from him when he got quiet. Sure, he didn't keep as many secrets as the majority of them, but when he wanted to keep something quiet, he kept quiet.
If he were ever interrogated, he'd be the person they'd all trust to keep their secrets—aside from Heavy and himself. But his stubbornness was also a double-edged sword. It benefited them as much as it was inconvenient to them. Like now.
"Keep your secrets, but sooner or later your sins will catch up to you and they'll come to bite you in the ass. Count on it." Mick warned.
"Aye, true that. But it ain't matter right now."
Mick wanted to ask for clarity on what that meant when the Scot paused.
He followed his gaze to a blood trail that led into a darkened hallway. It appeared as if someone had crawled out, leaving their bloodied handprints smeared on the ground, before being dragged back into the darkness without any sign of the body itself.
"Ya got a light?" Questioned the Australian.
Demo pulled a lighter from his back pocket, and now that Mick looked at him closely, he was still wearing his pyjamas. Why Demo was carrying a lighter in his pyjamas, he didn't question it, taking the object from him and flicking it on. It didn't do much to light the halls, but it was enough to notice the blood trail leading down the hall.
"Think it's Scouts?" Demoman asked, voice bouncing off the walls and causing a slight echo.
"Doubt it." It might've been one of the other BLUs, though he didn't say what he was thinking.
The Scot looked back at where they walked from. "Think we should look elsewhere?"
He thought about it and glanced back at where they came from, then back down the darkened hallway. It was difficult to see much in front of them, especially with the small lighter, and he peered around the hallway to see if there were any light switches. Much to his chagrin, there weren't.
"Yeah, doubt there's much down here, anyway."
"'Sides a dead body."
Mick hummed and flipped the zippo lighter's lid down, hearing it clack and echo. He handed it back to Demo.
"This place is like a maze." Said the Aussie.
"Aye. Bloody annoying, too."
He hummed, and they turned to leave when they heard a moan. It was raspy and almost airy, similar to how when a person dies and their bodies release the gas that was filling their body. It was an indiscernible sound, one someone could never forget once they've heard it.
The two froze.
There was another moan, accompanied by a wet cough.
There were three hallways, the one they came from, one in front of them, and the darkened hallway with the blood trail leading back into it. He looked down at all three, listening keenly to where the noise came from.
The hall behind Mick was shorter than the one they had come from, and he noticed an arrow on the wall pointing to a communal shower. He doubts Scout went to the communal shower, but he moved closer to the source of the noise in an attempt to hear the voice better.
A groan this time. Pained. As if they were in agony.
"Oi!" Mick shouted.
Demo suddenly grabbed his shoulder in a sharp motion. "The feck are you doin'?!" He inquired, panicked, his eyes blown wide.
"Could be that wanka Scout."
"Scout?!" He asked, baffled.
"Who else is stupid enough to get themselves hurt?" He shot back.
"Now, hold on a mo' there, lad. Scout's a lot sharper than he looks, don't let his attitude fool ya. This Scout might be smarter, too."
"He is. He read a book." It hit Mick then that BLU Scout read a book, impressively whistling. "A goddamn book! I can't believe his brain cells are developed enough to read a whole book. I'm surprised he had the focus."
"What?"
Mick went to answer him when almost like a bad joke, or as if he jinxed them, there was a shuffle off to the hallway where the communal showers were, and the two turned in the direction with a sense of unease.
"Oi!"
The two froze.
It was Mick's voice.
But his mouth hadn't moved.
"Oi!"
"Ye ain't a ventriloquist, are ye?" Demo asked, eyes panning around the three hallways.
"What's that?" Mick asked.
"Puppeteer."
Mick gave him a strange look, but before he could give him a dry answer, there was another wet cough behind him.
"Oi!"
His blood drained. Something was behind him. That monster was behind him.
Demo urgently and violently grasped his shoulder and pulled him down the darkened hallway before he could see what was behind him. As the Australian stumbled to correct himself, his shoe squeaked on the floor. He turned to ask what Demo was doing when his terrified expression gave him pause.
"What's-"
Demo picked up his pace, sprinting down the hallway, as Mick shot his hand out to feel for the wall. They couldn't see any more than a few feet in front of themselves, and he grazed his fingers to let them know if there was a corner or a door they could enter into.
Mick turned back to see what scared him while he did so. There was only a silhouette. Just a silhouette. But his heart dropped. The silhouette was of two people, but they weren't people.
It was like they were melting.
They were melting.
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.
What would've happened to Scout if he didn't cut his arm off?
The two people were joined together, groaning, laughing, and moaning. But only one was laughing. Why were they laughing? Who was laughing?
"Evenin', cunts." One of them rasped.
That was him. But it wasn't him. It was a BLU Sniper. BLU Sniper was caught.
Hearing himself felt like a whiplash, just like the first time he heard his clone speak to him during battle. He said those same words to him back then, too.
It was a strange experience to kill himself in the field for those first few months, to shoot himself dead, and to see someone else kill himself too.
Everyone felt this way; Scout would kill himself and claim it was weird to hear himself die, and Engineer would react strangely when he looked over his own body, head bashed in with his own blood covering his wrench. But the person with the most profound reaction was Medic, who looked nothing but ecstatic.
But it eventually became like white noise to kill himself and witness his own death. He got used to shooting himself in the head.
After a while, it became easier to distinguish him from himself as his counterpart grew a beard and smiled less over the years.
This time, though, he was hearing his own voice without a face to associate it with.
Mick shook his head in horror and allowed Demo to drag him deeper into the darkness.
He knew it was a ridiculous thought, but he couldn't help but imagine himself in the shoes of BLU Sniper. That he was the monster.
Mick felt his foot slip on something wet before he had much time to ponder that thought. Demo righted him and dragged him down the hall before he could straighten himself.
"Mate, mate, slow down, I can't-"
"I don't give a damn, keep goin'! Move your arse!" He hissed.
Mick used the wall to push himself up, dragging his hand against the concrete to determine which way they were going. The hallway went on for too long. He knew this base was like a maze, but he hadn't realised just how large it was. It gave him a sense of vertigo.
He felt a corner in the hall and motioned Demo to follow him, the two turning the corner as he swiped the air to feel for the wall again. He panicked slightly when he didn't feel it, though the moment didn't last as his hand dragged against the right hall wall, feeling the texture of the cold concrete against his fingers.
They turned a couple more corners, their movement growing slower with each corner and long corridor they ran down. It was only by the fifth turn that they noticed something neon blue illuminating down the hall.
Demo's grasp on his shoulder tightened in silent inquiry, and Mick hummed in response to tell him he noticed it too. By the time they reached it, they noticed blood stains and hand prints staining the area, as well as a sort of wet substance that he couldn't discern what it was.
The shutter was cracked open, barely enough room for someone to crawl under. It looked as if someone attempted to, with their hand prints all over the ground and the shutter, and a trail of blood that led back the way they came from. With the amount of blood pooled in one area, Mick guessed the shutter door closed on someone and malfunctioned it, but he couldn't be sure nor did he have the time to investigate.
The area was lit up by the neon blue 'EXIT' sign and no matter where they were, they always recognised that neon sign.
"Ach, hell, is this the respawn room?" Demo inquired, looking back down the hall they came from and unsure if they were still being followed. "We can sort it out later. We better keep movin' for now."
With morbidly perfect timing, Mick heard BLU Sniper.
"Oi!"
"Why the bloody hell does he keep saying that?" Mick exasperatedly asked in between pants.
They ran past it, their feet slapping against the concrete while their breathing was audible. They could hear BLU Sniper and BLU Pyro behind them, their moans and giggles overlapping.
"You'll s-see your mum, m—mate!" BLU Sniper mocked, speaking as if the words were foreign. He sounded sad. His voice sounded sad. "She's h-here now! Now!"
If Demo wasn't dragging him by the shoulder, he would have stopped to ask what he meant. His clone spoke almost religiously, chanting about something he didn't understand. He spoke almost incoherently and occasionally trailed off, as if his own brain were failing him.
"Y'see, fear… fear is… what?"
"Keep going, just ignore it." Demo said.
"Hard to do that when he keeps talkin' 'bout my mum." Mick bit, gritting his teeth and panting profusely. He needed a break soon. He can't keep running.
"There's… something… wrong? It attaches itself." BLU Sniper spoke in a parroting tone for the last few words, as if trying to speak in someone else's voice. The Australian didn't know whose voice he was copying.
Mick ignored the rest of what he said. He didn't want to hear anymore of what he was saying. If he did and heard him mention his mum again, he knew he would stop and confront him. He was already pissed off when he discovered that the clone Sniper had called his parents.
Somewhere in his mind, he was glad that the monster caught Sniper. It saved him the trouble of having to kill him himself.
He nearly tripped over his own foot when he felt his hand brush against a doorway, bringing him and Demo to a halt and practically ripping the door off its hinges to open it.
He heard the door clatter against the wall but didn't pay any attention before throwing himself and Demoman inside.
The two men scrambled into the room, Demoman about to slam the door when Mick wrapped his hand around his wrist and gently shut it, pressing his index finger to his lips. With an understanding nod, the Scot moved away from the door, and Mick trailed behind him.
He couldn't see what was going on in the room besides brief outlines, and he peered about, trying to discern what was inside. It was nothing more than a supply room, and Mick found himself frowning.
He pulled a nearby box that was heavier than he realised and grunted softly, pushing it up against the door as the Scot followed his lead. They stacked boxes on top of one another as they heard Pyro and Sniper come closer.
"Spy is sick—"
The Australian reached over and stopped Demo from grabbing more boxes, clasping his wrist while he grasped his shoulder, the two pushing themselves further back into the room.
Mick could feel Demo's nerves from where he was standing, and he felt his own shoulders heave in a silent breath. They stayed still and quiet, not moving a single step as they strained their ears to hear the hallway.
There was brief muttering and clanging on the walls, interspersed with the occasional cut-off scream and angry shouting.
An orange light then emerged from the doorway's crevices. He dropped his jaw in horror. Pyro knew how to use her flamethrower. They were intelligent enough to use their weapons. Holy shit. They knew how to use their weapons.
"They can use their weapons." Mick muttered.
Despite knowing the door was barricaded, Mick suddenly didn't trust its ability to hold up against the two behind it. Not only could Pyro use her fire, but Mick was confident he was physically strong enough to break down the door. Even if they had changed over time, the clones were designed to be accurate to not only their personalities, but their physics too.
"Demo, blow up that wall over there so we can escape, will ya?"
"I ain't blowin' up no wall, ya hear me? We'll both die if we try it."
"What the hell does that matt-" Mick didn't get to finish when he felt his neck prickle, the air shifting and sensing something towering above them from behind them.
Demo let out a muffled scream as two large hands grabbed the two men's mouths and abruptly pulled them back. While simultaneously Mick pulled his kukri from his belt and stabbed whoever was behind him, hearing a soft grunt that sounded too human in comparison to the monster's noises.
"Успокойтесь." The deep voice rumbled.
The two men froze when they heard the familiar voice and language, Mick abruptly aware of the calloused, giant hand that covered his mouth. He slowly unwrapped his fingers around the kukri of his handle, leaving it inside the man to prevent him from bleeding more as they stayed frozen in his arms.
"I dunnae feckin' believe it," Demo said in a frantic whisper. "How the feck have ya not keeled over yet?"
"Was not present when the creatures incident happened." He answered truthfully. The Australian could feel the man look down at them, tone curious. "You will tell Heavy why two REDs are here."
It only took 15 seconds, but it was odd being a ghost while waiting for the respawn machine to kick in.
At the very least, Demoman isn't excusing what Scout did.
A groan of frustration ripped from him that turned into a growl, his fingers twitching to break something. But, whether fortunately or not, there was nothing for him to destroy as a ghost. He went for stomping his feet and punching the air, growling more loudly than before.
He let Jeremy kill him.
Again.
He was frustrated not because he died, but because Jeremy killed him. It was always Jeremy who killed him in battles, and the next time he saw his original, he taunted him, saying he was the better one. It wasn't the bad insults that bothered him, but the fact that he was simply the original, the better one, and he knew it.
Scout let out another angered growl, fruitlessly punching Jeremy. It did nothing, and it only further angered him. Next time he makes his way back, he's going to kill him. He doesn't care if Jeremy's arm "melted." He can't even trust if that's true to begin with; he was going to waterboard him, burn him alive, and keep him alive for as long as possible.
"I'm going to kill you! Ya hear me? Kill you!" Scout yelled in Jeremy's face. "You'll die a virgin, and I'll make sure you're eaten by that monster! You freaking scumbag! Fuck you!"
He made choking motions towards the original. But the moment didn't last long.
Scout blinked, and he found himself dropping down as he respawned, scrunching his nose and letting out a groan of annoyance. He gritted his teeth and let out another groan.
After standing still for some time, however long he didn't know, he shoved his anger down his throat. He can't stand around right now, especially if that monster's nearby. He would never trust any of the RED team's words, besides probably Sniper because he was "professional" or whatever. But Miss Pauling, as much of a bitch as she is, wouldn't lie about this. She was too professional to lie about this.
He gazed around the darkened respawn room that was only lit by the blue neon 'EXIT' sign above the shutters. The familiar buzz of the fluorescent lights wasn't present, leaving only the pounding, still quiet in its place.
Scout wondered why the lights were shut off. If the off-chance rest of the building's lights were turned off, the respawn room usually had emergency lights in case one of them died—courtesy of Engineer. It shouldn't be off unless something happens to the generator. At least that's what Engineer told them. He didn't exactly listen to anything he was saying.
He shuffled his clothing to make a noise in the room, trying to stifle out the silence. He hated the silence. The silence always made him spiral into a doomsday kind of depression. But he could think more clearly now that he wasn't so exhausted.
He reached up to take his cap off to pull his hair back when he felt nothing, frowning to himself and rubbing the top of his head. He suddenly felt naked without his hat or headphones on. He didn't even have any weapons or his backpack.
He didn't have anything on him.
Looking to the corner of the room, he spotted the lockers and made his way to them, opening his locker. There was a broken bat inside, along with a bright green hat. He took the two items and held the bat in his hand awkwardly. Next time he'll have to remember to put an actual weapon in the locker.
Scout then moved to the other lockers, ignoring Medic, Soldier, Spy, and Sniper's lockers that had locks on them. Which he found to be annoying since he knew they had all the goods in them; he couldn't exactly pry them open either, considering he only had a broken bat.
He shifted his gaze away from the locked lockers and opened Demoman's first, which contained only two pairs of socks, before moving on to Heavy's, which contained two pairs of each type of clothing but no weapons. Pyro's stank of gas fluid and oil, and he shut it immediately, nose pinching in disgust.
He quickly opened Engineer's afterwards and slumped in relief, smirking when he spotted a pistol on the top shelf.
"Fucking finally." He muttered.
He took the pistol, checked the cartridge for ammo, and let out an impressed chuckle when he saw it was full.
"Now that's what I'm talking about," he said, kissing the gun before returning to the centre of the room after closing Engineer's locker. He'll have to thank Engie for leaving his weapon full next time he sees him.
Now, he just has to find Jeremy and shoot him in the head without Demo or Sniper killing him for it. Easy peasy.
He approached the shutter door with unexpected resolve, driven by anger, and paused when the shutters didn't open automatically.
He stood still, waiting, but it remained firmly on the ground.
Scout waited a few seconds before kicking the bottom, which had no effect.
"Are you freakin' kidding me?"
He kicked it again, then again, then again, again, again, again, and again before groaning in frustration and slight pain from kicking metal.
The door was jammed, so not only were the lights turned off and the backup generator turned off, but he was trapped inside the respawn room until someone found him. Perfect. Exactly what he needed for an already shitty night.
Scout looked around the room, inspecting the vents that were too small to crawl through and knocking on walls with the broken end of his bat to see if he could bust through them, listening for a hollow knock. When everything he tried failed, he returned to the shutter and threw the bat and gun on the ground, dusting his hands.
He crouched down, pressed his fingers firmly beneath a crack in the shutter, and heaved.
Scout fell back when he couldn't pry it open, clenching and unclenching his fingers to relieve the ache gained from straining. He then furrowed his brow and attempted to pry the door open again. One thing he appreciated about being physically different from Jeremy was that he was bulkier, not completely bulky, but enough to physically take down Snipes five out of ten times. Six if it was a rare, good day.
Scout grunted and gasped, stumbling back a few times before attempting to open the door. A minute might've passed of him doing this, maybe ten minutes, but he finally heard a hefty metallic groan.
He looked down in surprise, then grated his teeth and pulled. After another minute, something gave way in the gears, and Scout started forward, hitting his head and stumbling backward with a startled gasp.
"Ow, shit!" He yelled while holding his head.
The shutter made metallic popping noises, jittering and shuddering as it struggled to lift itself. He stared at the door, waiting for it to open more when it came to a halt just below his knees.
He waited, then huffed in annoyance, scrunching his nose, before kicking the bottom of the shutter once more. There was a thunderous BANG, though the kick did little to budge the large door.
'Whatever,' Scout thought to himself, 'better than nothing.'
He dropped to his knees and pushed the gun and bat beneath and to the other side of the shutter before lying on his back. He sucked in his stomach and squirmed his way out. There was little to no space between the respawn room and the hallway, but he was small enough to crawl through—a fact he would never admit to anyone.
He heaved, his head and shoulders slipping easily under the door. Then, just as he slid up to his abdomen, the shutter pressing on his stomach, he heard faint sniffing and grumbling.
Scout paused, and he felt a sudden sense of dread. His eyes darted between the two hallways on either side of himself, squinting to see further into the darkness. With the hallways so dark, he could only see the opposing wall in front of the room, which was illuminated by the neon sign.
"…Hey?" Scout tentatively called out, feeling stupid afterwards. He felt like he was calling out to nothing.
He waited for a moment longer before continuing to push himself through the tight space, softly grunting when he felt the metal of the shutter drag across his stomach.
"Malade…"
Freezing, Scout's eyes darted between the two hallways again.
He went to ask who was there when the voice was more clear than the last time, Scout's voice dying in his throat, as gargled whimpers and snorting accompanied each word the man said.
"Il n'y a pas—pas de fin."
He froze when he heard the voice, dread filling his heart when he realised who it belonged to. There was no mistaking the obvious French accent and words.
When he tried to figure out where it came from, the Boston jerked his head and looked down the two halls, dizzy from the force of the movement. He wanted to respond, but the wet and painful moans that accompanied each word made him stop.
He didn't trust it. Something in his mind screamed for him to back off, distantly yelling at him that whoever was at the end of one or the other hall, it wasn't Spy.
He didn't want to be in the hallway any longer, and even though he was halfway through pushing himself under the shutter, he crawled back into the respawn room, grabbing the pistol and broken bat as he went.
Scout felt the bottom of the shutter scrap against his skin, paying little mind as his mind flurried with a mixture of fear and anxiety, replacing the anger he felt earlier towards Jeremy.
Spy's throaty, indiscernible words echoed down the hall, and it only encouraged him more to escape. To hide.
The noises fell silent when Scout managed to wedge his head back into the room, and he scrambled to get to his knees, picking up the gun and bat while he did so. Raising to stand, he backed away from the shutter to let them close.
They didn't.
Scout stared in astonished horror, feeling hysterical.
Of all times for the door to malfunction, it had to be now.
He attempted to push the shutter down, banging against it with the metallic noises pounding against his ears. The gears jerked, resounding through the room, and groaning with each movement, but it remained unmoving, much to his terror.
He wasn't sure why, but the memory of Jeremy sneaking downstairs late at night to make food at his ma's house flashed through his mind. Jeremy was never a quiet kid, and he was almost always caught when sneaking food. However, this wasn't stealing food from the kitchen at night. And he regretted not taking Spy's stealth lessons.
He heard the sounds reverberate down the halls, cringing with each bang. He backed away when he realised it was pointless and would only attract whatever that thing was to his location. If it hadn't already.
Scout clamped his teeth together and waited, straining his ears for any other sounds from the Frenchmen.
Waiting wasn't something Scout did. Waiting wasn't a Jeremy thing. Patience was never either one of the Scouts' qualities. But, whether it was the anticipation of whatever that thing was down the hall or his own fear, he remained remarkably still.
A minute passed with nothing happening, and the unease in the pit of his stomach continued to pool. Still, he remained stationary and listened.
'Trust your instincts, Scout, they've never let you down. Even if it's annoying.' He repeated that mantra to himself. It was all he could do to pass the time.
He waited and waited and waited.
And when nothing happened, Scout cautiously placed a hand on the window on the shutters, slightly crouching down to peer through them.
The hallways were darkened, and the neon sign only illuminated the vicinity in front of the shutters. He couldn't see anything at an arm's length in front of him, and it was impossible to see where the noises were coming from.
Why the hell were the hallways so dark, anyway? He could overlook the respawn room, but the hallways shouldn't be dark, and the entire building's lights couldn't have shut off in the time between dying and respawning. If they had, he would've seen it while being a ghost.
Drip.
Scout paused, listening closely to the noise.
Drip.
It didn't sound like water dripping; it sounded like something sloppy slapping against the ground. Similar to thick mud dripping onto the cement ground.
Scout peered down at the still cracked open shutter, abruptly aware of the fact that he was trapped in the respawn room if whatever that thing down the hall found him.
Another thought came to him: he should've stayed quiet.
"Malade—" there were more words, but Scout couldn't hear them over the sudden pounding of his heart beating in his ears.
He waited.
Waited.
And waited.
There weren't any other sounds. There was nothing he could hear outside the respawn room. Scout was about to crawl underneath the shutter again and run the hell out of there, and he should've done so before. He shouldn't have waited.
It would've been so easy too—so easy he could've done so before.
But he decided to hide instead of run. He decided to freeze instead of fight.
He was the fastest out of the mercs. So why didn't he run? Why did he wait for it to find him?
There was a raspy wheeze beside his feet.
Something terrible peeked from beneath the shutter. It was inhuman. It wasn't Spy.
Scout's mind was blank as he stared at whatever that thing was.
Skin and red fabric mixed together. There were noises akin to wheezes that came from whatever that thing was; guttural gasps and soft hiccups, mixed with laboured breathing, coming out of what Scout assumed was its mouth.
It effortlessly dragged itself into the respawn room, and Scout couldn't muster any words or even a scream of fear; he couldn't move a muscle as he watched the thing crawl deeper into the respawn room, movements methodical and expert, as if on autopilot, as if it was trained for infiltration.
"Jeremy?" It said.
Scout moved his mouth, but no words emerged.
"Jeremy?" It muttered again, almost as if it were getting used to the unusual name on its tongue.
The clone watched as it rose to its… feet? Legs? He had no idea how it could even move.
The monster loomed over him. Where its face was supposed to be, there was instead a melted conglomerate mess staring down at him.
He stared back, unblinking.
"Bonjour, BLU Éclaireur."
Spy spoke with pauses interspersed between each word. Its words hit like a bullet to Scout.
There were four things that went through Scout's mind instantaneously:
- What Demoman said to both him and Medic: "I know one thing, though: it didn't kill 'em."
- What Miss Pauling said: "Give them a proper burial, Demoman."
- Sniper saying Jeremy's arm melted when he respawned.
- And that Demoman lied.
Demo lied about not knowing what Miss Pauling meant. He knew that they turned into monsters if they died and respawned after being absorbed- merged- whatever it did to them. He lied.
Scout felt his blood drain.
"Que—quelque chose ne va pas."
Somehow, Spy's breathing became even more laboured as he reached out to Scout with his aqueous hand.
Scout could hear all the bones creak in his liquid-like body, organs swishing in his body as if they were non-existent and only slabs of meat contained inside it.
"Ce serait… une—dommage, en quelque sorte, s-si vous étiez… pris."
His words minced together, wheezing each word like it was a struggle to even say them. He stumbled towards Scout, arm still held out to him like he was only going to take Scout's hand. He was too gentle, too conscious, too alive.
"Surtout par… moi."
Scout felt the beginnings of a frozen kind of fear sink its teeth into him, and somehow, miraculously, his voice was working. "Back off…" he was breathless, shaking violently.
"Je crois… que je suis… malade. Oui. C'est le… mot. Malade." Spy continued speaking in those raspy words. It was as if something took him over. "P-Pardonnez-moi… les mots sont… un peu flous pour moi. Je suis malade."
Scout hit the wall without realising it, pushing himself against the concrete as he suppressed a whimper. "I don't understand, pal. I don't… I don't understand."
Spy let out a wet cough, looming over him and eyes bulging out of his skull like they were about to pop out. "Tu vas—vas tomber malade, toi aussi."
"Look—doc, my doc, is tryna fix this mess. He's-"
Scout leaned away from his liquid hand, gritting his teeth as tears pooled the rims of his eyes. That hand was still slowly reaching out for him, almost mocking him, and if he could read Spy's expression, it would be one of contempt with how he spoke to him. There was a hollow sound in his voice, like it didn't belong to him. It was almost uncomfortable listening to Spy's voice because there wasn't something right with it.
"Just- just, I- please- back off-" he stumbled over his words, sentences failing him. He felt his breathing pickup, and he let himself whimper. "I- I don't want to die…"
The words were damning in his tongue as he dragged himself across the wall, and a flood of desperate hatred and fear escaped him.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die, and it's gonna be Jeremy's fault! Jeremy, you fucking bastard! You fucking dickwad! Ugly fuckin' piece of shit! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!"
He continued to speak to himself as Spy approached him, and his eyes widened as he reached the corner of the respawn room, pressing himself into the corner as much as he could.
There was no escape. He was going to die.
He gasped.
He was going to die.
His breathing quickened.
He was going to die to Spy.
And his mind was wired.
His pops was going to kill him.
The realisation that he was going to die to Spy finally hit him, and he let out a strangled sob.
"I don't want to die!" Scout cried, allowing his tears to fall. "Pops! I want my papa! Papa!"
Scout felt a sudden, powerful force jerk his leg, and he fell back into the wall, the crunch of the bones in his foot reverberating throughout the room. His whimper was strangled when he realised what had happened. His weapons were knocked out of his hands, out of reach.
He slowly gazed down at his foot, stuck inside Spy's body, and he let out a pained cry, the liquid that made Spy's body slowly consuming his leg, dragging him towards Spy to be inevitably consumed.
The force of Spy's body compressed his foot, breaking every single bone from his toes to his ankle. By now, Scout guessed his foot was completely shattered and wouldn't be repairable if he didn't have the doc. He wailed in agony as the liquidus body crawled up his leg.
"HELP!" Howled Scout. "HELP ME!"
He fruitlessly clawed at the ground while wailing for help and in pain. The French man continued to moan and grumble about something as he consumed him, muttering, "Désolé. Désolé. Désolé."
Scout screamed, and as he did, he noticed the pistol was out of reach. He glanced at Spy and then at the gun, and without hesitation, he reached for the pistol, straining his arm. He gasped, wheezed, and rasped, determined to reach the gun. His finger brushed against it, jogging it, and Scout screamed as Spy moved up to his knee.
His bones cracked, crunching beneath the liquid pressure. It was like quicksand; once consumed, it was impossible to escape. Was this the monster? Was this what everyone was terrified of? What was going to happen to him if he was fully consumed?
He became increasingly desperate, and in a frantic attempt, he bent slightly back to leap towards the gun when he felt himself being swallowed more. He shrieked, kicking at the liquid to loosen himself. When it didn't work, he decided to jump towards the gun, anyway. Scout grabbed the pistol after some strain and felt Spy's mass follow him.
He looked back and saw Spy leaning down, looming over him. Scout looked up and noticed, almost too late, that the Frenchman was falling in his direction.
Scout rolled as best he could, despite the awkward angle of his leg inside Spy.
He heard a sickening 'schlorp,' looking on in disgust, before aiming the pistol at Spy's head and shooting.
The bullet did nothing.
Scout gasped, his mouth hanging open. He knew guns didn't do anything, but he didn't believe it was true. Guns do nothing.
Without thinking, Scout aimed the pistol at his leg.
There was the blast of the gun, a bullet penetrating his leg, and Scout screamed in agony.
His leg was still attached, and Scout shot his leg again in a different location, screaming.
He then shot again, the bullet thunderous as he shot at his bone and muscle.
There was another shot.
He only had two more bullets left, and he felt something shift in his leg.
Scout gritted his teeth, now no longer feeling his broken foot but his shot-up leg instead. He glared up at Spy and stuck his middle finger up at him, twisting his leg and hearing the ugly crunch of bone. He then slammed down, his leg tearing away from his foot.
Scout bellowed in pain, rolling on his back and violently shaking as he held his leg. When Spy began advancing towards him once more, Scout let out a pained whimper.
He needed to leave.
The Boston got on his knees and began crawling away, avoiding using his injured leg as much as possible as he crawled around Spy with a quickened pace.
Thankfully, Spy was too melted to give chase, instead staggering towards him slowly at a snail's pace.
"Courir." Spy said.
Scout gasped and wheezed as he crawled towards the exit, practically half-dragging himself. Blood trailed behind him, but he knew he had to get back to Medic. If he died, his leg would melt like Scout's. He can't afford to let that happen. He couldn't lose the one thing that made him useful to the team.
He got on his stomach when he reached the shutter, belly crawling as fast as he could. He sucked in his stomach, feeling the bottom of the shutter scrape against his back but paying no mind. His fingers scraped against the ground desperately, the inside of his nails bleeding, his skin bruising and scratching, and his clothing becoming dirty.
Briefly, he thought about his shower earlier that day, and through his panicked haze, he thought about how he needed to shower again. The thought was ridiculous, but something so mundane pushed him to escape.
He gasped, wiggling himself from out of the respawn room, and by the time he reached his legs, he rolled from out under it. Sparing no moment to catch his breath before he began crawling away.
He heard Spy shuffling behind him, voice echoing down the hallway. Spy couldn't give chase with his legs being a moulted mess, luckily, but Scout wasn't chancing it.
He crawled as fast as he could. His knees were growing sore, and the palm of his hands were being rubbed raw from the concrete floor. His shot off leg was trailing blood behind him, bits of bone and flesh being left behind.
Once he thought he was far enough away from… Spy? That monster? Whatever he was now—Scout leaned against the wall and held up his now-footless leg, groaning in pain as his head lolled back. His breathing increased, and he shakily ripped a piece of his shirt off, wrapping it tightly around his leg. He remembered seeing Medic do this before, and while it didn't look as neat, it did the job.
Scout took a moment to catch his breath, looking up at the ceiling of the darkened hallway. He couldn't see well, his eyes not having adjusted to the darkness. Or maybe it was too dark that they wouldn't adjust to the dark. But he figured that was a good thing. If he couldn't see, maybe whatever Spy was wouldn't be able to see either. It gave him time to run away.
Scout groaned and rolled back onto his knees, with sweat beading around his forehead, and his vision beginning to blur. He needed to keep going.
He turned another corner, then another, and another. The halls were mixing together, and Scout couldn't tell which direction he was going in. He only knew he was still in the hallways with the way the walls felt as he grazed his hand against them.
After some time of crawling through the dark hallways, he spotted a light source at the end of the corridor, eyes widening. He let out a gasp of relief, letting out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. He quickened his pace.
Scout was moving too slowly, he knew it, and he tried to crawl faster, but with his leg and body as battered as it was, he couldn't move any quicker than he currently was. He still pushed himself past his limit. He needed to get back to Medic. He needed to escape Spy.
The ringing in his ears increased.
Scout reached the light.
Notes:
And so, we finally get to see a part of the monster. To the people I've blatantly lied to about there being no multiple monsters, I'm not sorry.
But I am sorry for the late update, if you've checked out my Tumblr, you'll know I've been busy with an animation. I also went through several drafts of this chapter. Heavy appearing wasn't the original plan. The original plan was to have Demo accidentally kill Sniper (I even had 10 pages written out), but a) it didn't make sense, b) it would've been overkill to have Sniper die dramatically after that whole thing with Scout, and c) I was already going to add another person so it works out anyway lol.
I originally intended to show the monster in chapter 7, I even had it planned out since the VERY beginning. But it wasn't the right time, and it still isn't, so in chapter 3, I decided to show just a smidge of the monster.
If there's any French speakers reading this, I would appreciate the criticism if the French is written wrong!
Tumblr: https/blog/boredgrace23-gracepotts