Chapter 15: Clones And Unfortunate Accidents
Notes: Criticism is allowed!
Those brown eyes stared at him, the joy having faded from them.
He was staring at him. The boy was staring at him. Scout was staring at him. He was being stared at. Medic's thoughts raced as those words rapidly entered his head, washing around in his brain and taking over any rational thoughts.
He stared at his face, a hollowness in his brown eyes, which were void of any recognition, and Medic felt his breathing pick up, his thoughts screaming at him that this wasn't Scout. But it was, wasn't it?
Medic pinched his lips together and swayed his head to the left, thumping his palm against the temple of his head to get Scout's imagery out of his mind. He needed it out of his mind.
He didn't want Scout staring at him.
Scout was still staring, despite his attempts to make him stop. He stared down at him with a wide grin that extended from ear to ear, or maybe he was frowning instead, the corners of his lips tilted downward in petrified anguish.
But was it Scout?
Blood dripped from Medic's hands, faded near the edges, but there. The blood—Scout's blood, he recognised—swarmed his entire body, flowing off of him like a wave.
"Mate…?"
The voice was too indistinguishable from Scout's. He wasn't Scout.
He ripped his gaze from that man's face and down to their feet—monsters?—scrunching his eyes when he saw four legs instead of two. The legs were intertwined, gripping the other foot as if they were in a three-legged race.
His mind buzzed when he saw the legs, and he felt his muscles stiffen at hearing shuffled footsteps and mumbling that were muffled by the ringing in his ears. He couldn't ignore them, though, and wasn't able to with how intimate the voice was.
The voices were so familiar. But he couldn't look. He couldn't tell who they belonged to and couldn't muster the courage to look.
He could hear several voices slurring speeches that overlapped with other voices, familiar yet distant in his ears. Two voices screamed at him, Scout and anothers.
'Sniper,' his mind supplied.
And maybe someone else's? They spoke over each other, as if in a one-sided debate that neither were winning. He couldn't discern what they were saying, what they were trying to say, or who was actually in front of him.
Brown eyes stared at him, one darker than the other, but the joy gone from them both was all the same.
Their footfalls were hefty as they dragged themselves towards Medic. He heard their feet dragging against the concrete floor, wheezes emanating from their throats like a synchronised whistle, their lungs rattling with each breath.
"Doc…? 'S that you?" The two voices inquired. Three voices…?
Medic couldn't move his muscles, his body firmly fixed in place as he stared at the two in horror. A third voice, muffled, reached his ears then. He could hear them; there was a third. He couldn't see them, though.
"Doc…?"
He felt his jaw drop to form any sort of word. But nothing came out. His voice was stuck in his throat.
"Ya gotta… help… Something… s'wrong." They slurred, voices swirling together. "They're sick… no… wait… I'm sick? I'm sick."
Their voices gargled in an ugly manner, lacking any sort of semblance to human beings. It was too uncanny to belong to a person, but it did, and he knew it did.
Medic raised his hands to his ears and curled into himself, forehead flat against the floor with his knees to his chest. They were too loud, and the voices were too overbearing for him. He needed them to be quiet. He needed them to be silent.
"Shut up…" Medic began, murmuring.
The voices then clambered over one another, and the volume only increased as they got closer to him. It was like they were screaming, but he knew they weren't screaming. Medic's brows pinched together, but what if they were screaming? Why were they yelling? No, they weren't yelling. They couldn't yell. But they could yell.
"Doc… hey, doc…"
"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up." He muttered repeatedly, trying to drown out the voices that reverberated in his head like a broken choir.
Their eyes were burning through him.
Scout's gaze never left the back of his own eyelids.
He pressed himself further into the floor, wanting it to swallow him to silence the too loud voices in his mind.
"Be quiet." He muttered, gritting his teeth and clasping his ears.
"The ringing is too loud."
He could still hear their voice even when his hands were wrapped around his ears. He needed them to shut up. He wanted the silence back. The silence was good. The silence offered comfort.
Instead, there was that ever-present ringing.
"Halt die Klappe! Verdammt! Halt die Klappe, Scout! Halt die Klappe!" He cried, slipping into German without having meant to as his voice cracked, whimpers escaping his throat.
Scout stared at him with those relieved eyes. But they weren't relieved. They were petrified. They were, weren't they? He couldn't look at his face; there wasn't—Scout wasn't—he wasn't—why was he looking at him so much?
"Medic-"
"SHUT UP!" A growl ripped from him, voice booming in the hallways.
A hand grasped his upper forearm. Gasping, the Medic jerked in its grip, slapping and gripping the hand that was forcing his arm to remain still, fruitlessly prying himself away. He could only hear muffled yells and that god awful ringing, and he felt himself being pulled to his knees.
All he saw was Scout.
Scout was staring at him.
"—Medic!"
Medic slapped his head with his free hand, tripping over himself as he staggered to an awkward stand. He wasn't sure if he was speaking, what was real or not, and whether there was a monster in front of him. Who was standing in front of him and pinning him down.
Scout merely stared at him with those brown, hollow eyes; they weren't relieved. They weren't. They were scared.
Another hand grabbed his wrist, preventing him from hitting himself, and Medic's eyes finally cracked open, unaware that they had been closed.
He observed the man in front of him, unable to discern who it was until the blurriness in his vision faded, revealing Demoman staring at him with panic and what looked like sympathy. He couldn't tell, not with how his eyes were as wide as saucers and his brows pinched together.
"Do I got ye back?" He asked, anxiety in his tone.
They stared at each other as Medic fluttered his eyes to get rid of Scout's face, Demo directly staring him in the eyes. Medic then stared back into him for only a moment, just a second, before turning his gaze completely away from him.
"Doc, Medic, we gotta go!" Panting, the Demoman said.
Demo let go of his upper forearm but maintained a firm grip on his wrist, tugging the Medic down the hall with an unexpected strength. Or maybe Medic couldn't fight back with how unnaturally empty he felt. Medic limped behind him, no choice in whether he wanted to follow him.
Reality warped, everything delaying while he ran, with what looked like eyes opening up around him, staring at him with several emotions that he couldn't discern. They were brown, then black, then blue. Disappointed, distraught, happy, and too familiar.
He tore his gaze away from them, and he blearily looked over at the Demoman. There was blood covering him, smeared bloody handprints on his hat, clothing, and skin, one covering his remaining eye. The blood looked oxidised. As if it had always been there.
When Medic saw Demoman covered in blood, his eyes narrowed. He was covered in too much blood for any rational explanation. It was as if a bucket had dumped the blood on his head, smeared on, and he struck his head with the palm of his hand before wiping his eyes, trying to erase the blood from his vision. It didn't disappear, however.
His vision shifted, each shift dizzying and nauseating him, switching between a false narrative and reality. His head hurt, his mouth was filled with cotton, and his chest was pounding.
As he ran, the grey walls of the hallways breathed, methodically closing in and out and gradually approaching as if they would crush him and Demoman. Somewhere in his mind, he didn't think it was such a bad idea to be crushed by the walls.
If he found himself in respawn, he'd be reunited with Scout, where he could absorb him.
He'd be a monster just like him.
Being stuck with Scout forever wouldn't be all that horrible; it might hurt at first, but what's a family without some suffering? He realised that far too late.
"Just let the monster take me…" stated the doctor, voice gravelly.
"Can't."
Medic gritted his teeth. "Why…?"
"Wh-what do ye mean why?" Sputtered Demoman, incredulously. "I ain't lettin' you get taken by that monster. Ye aren't in yer right mind; even a wee lass could see that!"
Why? He wanted to ask, but Medic couldn't find his voice.
He wasn't sure where he was or where he was being forced to go. Maybe back to the exam room? He didn't know.
His heart thrumming echoed in his ears, and that taunting ringing was present, shrieking for him to just stop.
Everything was too much.
And Scout was still there.
Demoman let out a startled cry, the hand gripping his wrist suddenly loosening before being yanked violently away. His nails scraped his skin as he was pulled away from him.
It took Medic far too long to realise what had happened, glimpsing Demo lying on the ground with Spy on top of him. He completely turned to face the Scot with his eyes slowly widening, who was grunting in agony and spluttering out shrieks of fear.
"Where the feck did ye come from?!" Demo exclaimed.
Medic noticed a metallic glint in Spy's sleeve as Spy suctioned Demo's foot into his skin, causing him to scream once more. He couldn't yell out a warning, too slow to process what was truly happening, and in one smooth motion, Spy flicked his knife from out of his sleeve and threw his arm at Demoman's face.
Demoman howled in agony as the knife protruded from his remaining eye, and Medic watched in growing horror.
His head blanked and all he focused on was Demoman.
He let out a cry of agony and rolled onto his side, clutching his eye and whimpering weakly and low as the blood trickled down to his hand. Though they weren't any louder, his screams were brief.
"Je suis désolé, Demoman. Je suis vraiment désolé. Je ne voulais pas. Je suis malade. Je suis malade, Demoman. Pardonne-moi." Spy muttered apologetically, though Demo's bellows covered it.
"My eye! My eye!" Demoman cried.
In pain, he swayed and let out sharp gasps. Medic was stiff as he stared, his gaze shifting from Spy to Demoman in a feeble attempt to comprehend what was going on.
'Someone is hurt,' those thoughts rushed to the forefront of his mind, drowning out any other thoughts he had. 'Someone is hurt. You need to help them.'
His body moved as he breathed deeply, his brows and lips twitching frantically to form some semblance of a word. Anxiety swept over him, and he felt fear for the first time since he was a younger man.
"Je suis désolé, Demoman. Je suis désolé. Je suis désolé."
"Medic." Gasped Demoman.
When Medic heard that single word he had always despised, his breathing became laboured, and everything around him fell silent. It could have been instincts, years of experience as a medic, taking over any thoughts he had, but he took a single step forward, hesitant and twitchy.
"Ye feckin' bastard! Help! Help me! Get me outta here!" The Scot cried.
Medic moved before he could comprehend what was happening. He pushed his legs forward and dashed towards the injured Demo, tripping over his feet and racing to his side.
It felt like he was swimming through mud, pushing his legs forward as if there were dumbbells holding him down. Every muscle in his body was rigid, but all that occupied his mind was his work ethic.
Above all else. He was a doctor.
His head was filled with white noise, and he could only focus on his breathing; he trusted his instincts to move him. With his head ringing, he dropped to his knees and threw his arms beneath Demo's armpits in a crude hug.
He gritted his teeth and grunted, trying to pull the man from beneath Spy. His thoughts were only on Demoman, and he was determined to get him healed.
"Get me out!" Demo screamed.
He pulled as hard as he could, his nails digging into his shirt while heaving. Too much noise surrounded him like an opera, but he tried to ignore it, blocking out the voices and Scout's lingering gaze.
"Medic."
He made the mistake of looking at Spy.
His eyes widened when he saw Scout's face instead. Those brown doe eyes looked at him, both relieved and utterly frightened.
Spy looked too much like Scout.
He hesitated slightly, but that single second was enough to draw Demoman deeper into Spy.
When the Medic heard him scream in agony, he scrambled to get a better hold of him, shifting his focus away from Scout and onto Demo.
He heard him moan as he drew him away from the Scout, his face scrunched in what he assumed was distress, gasping.
"Get me the feck outta here! Get me outta here!" Demo shrieked as his legs kicked beneath Spy's. He heard him grunt, before his knees buckled beneath him, carrying Medic with him. "Fuck!"
The doctor kneeled and grasped the Scot beneath him, pulling him outward with all his strength, teeth grinding and straining. Medic was in no way weak; he needed to be strong to carry his Medi-gun. He knew the monsters were strong enough to defeat Heavy, but he had no idea they were this powerful.
A distant thought that sounded much too like Humboldt spoke up, too gleeful. 'You need to experiment on them. They're interesting. They're different.'
"Medic! Doc! Get me outta here!" Pleaded Demo, nails digging into his arm, unaware of what Medic had been thinking.
Medic didn't respond, only grunting as he tried pulling him out of Spy's grasp. Scout's blood drenched every part of Medic, and his vision was still blurry. Though he ignored the blood and Scout's face in the corner of his eyes, only concentrating on Demo.
He almost missed the movement out of the corner of his eye, eyes flicking to the left of himself that revealed two figures looming over the three of them. Sniper and Pyro stood over them, and his eyes widened as his jaw dropped agape.
"Pyro-" Medic called too late.
They lunged at them, and he threw his arms around Demo to shield him, muffled speaking, overlapping one another with too much muttering for Medic to discern who it belonged to. He heard laughter and a cry, something shifting and making a wet pop before he heard a mutter of gratitude.
"Merci." Spy said, voice low.
He opened his eyes to see the two embrace Spy in an almost morbid hug, a crude impersonation of the real thing. It was enough of a distraction for Medic, though, and he felt himself fall back due to the lack of weight on top of Demo. The two men grunt as they started backwards.
"Get me out! Get me out!" Demo continued to shriek.
Medic gritted his teeth and scrunched his face as he helped the two of them to their feet. He didn't bother looking at the monsters, instead pushing Demo down the hall without saying anything, desperate.
He could hear cackling, puzzled muttering, and muffled sobbing behind him. He didn't turn around, afraid he'd only see Scout.
The two men staggered down the corridors, half-leading each other as they fled the scene.
Demo's gasps of pain and anguish reverberated throughout the corridor, with the ringing gradually decreasing in Medic's ears, followed by a deafening silence minutes later.
He could still hear those voices in his head, the gasps, and that damned relieved stare. His head was buzzing with too much noise and imagery, but he could think a little more clearly now that he had a moment of brief escape.
When he heard Demo groan, he swallowed his thoughts and turned to him with concern. He had been injured like this before; it wasn't uncommon for him to injure his eye in battle. It wasn't uncommon for any of them to sustain an eye injury. There were numerous threats that could damage a person's cornucopia, including being blinded by an explosive blast, getting glass inside, or being hit too hard in a specific area. It didn't hurt any less, though.
His lips pried open to say something, perhaps a word of comfort, or to inquire if he was okay. But his teeth clicked shut, and he remained quiet. It wasn't his place. They weren't friends.
He didn't know how long they were running, and the thought of Jeremy crossed his mind before it vanished almost instantly when he felt Demo buckle.
Medic moved to grab his arm, straightening it and pulling it over his shoulders. He then wrapped his hand around his waist, preventing him from falling.
"Keep going." Medic muttered, his voice strained from overuse and damage.
"'M tryin'." His speech was slurred, but he was coherent enough to understand the urgency.
He glanced at him again and at his eye wound.
"I need to patch up your wound." Medic said, more to himself than to Demo. "This can't be left until later, It won't heal properly."
"I could just respawn; wouldn't matter then."
Medic felt his blood run cold at those words, and he pinched his lips.
"You can't always rely on respawn." Stated Medic. "It's… finicky."
The words tasted sour in his mouth.
He waited for a reply from Demo, and when nothing came, the Medic reluctantly looked back. The monsters hadn't followed them; if they had, they were too far behind.
He coughed into his sleeve from overworking his body, tasting metal, before looking back down the hallway they were descending. He didn't know where they were going, aimless. If they returned to the exam room, and if what the Heavy said was true, the monsters were smart enough to track their locations. It didn't take much deduction to figure out that he and Demo would hide in the exam room, seeing as both of them were injured.
Medic's own personal dorm room had nothing inside besides the bare minimum of furniture, so there would be nothing in there besides a couple of extra bandages, and his exam room's safety was compromised. He wondered where he could get Demoman healed, and the image of Humboldt's own exam room crossed his mind. He felt reluctant to go to his exam room, disdaining him. He didn't want to go; he never felt the need to go back, but nevertheless, he didn't have a choice. Not unless he chanced running into those monsters again.
He noticed an old door a few feet away, the knob covered in dust from months of inactivity.
Medic stared at it before looking back down the hall; after a few seconds of consideration, he dragged them both towards the room.
"Where we goin'?" Demo asked.
"Just an unused room, like I said, I need to patch up your wound."
The door opened with a rattle, and the two stumbled inside.
The door slammed behind Heavy as he left the exam room.
He walked down the hallway with reluctance, his footfalls heavy and his hands balled into fists. Wind whistled throughout the corridor, and he trudged forward with reluctance.
The plan for Heavy was for him to find the Medi-gun and circle around to the garage, which he assumed wouldn't be hard to find with how small the RED base was. He'll then wait if Sniper isn't there yet. Likewise for Sniper if Heavy wasn't there.
His fingers twitched at the thought of the plan. There were so many ways it could fail, from one of them getting caught by the monster, Spy not being in the fridge like they said, Heavy not being able to find the Medi-gun, or even the Medi-gun being with Medic. He was afraid that Sniper would find Spy as a monster, but as soon as that thought crossed his mind, he shoved it back, only for the fear to come back stronger.
If Sniper found Spy as a monster, he was not only letting down Scout and Spy, but Medic as well.
He knew those three were close with each other, much like everyone else in the BLU team were. They were comrades and brothers.
If they were freed from their jobs, he wouldn't put it past those three to move into a house somewhere together, living on the down-low with little to no contact with the outside world. They were attached to each other at the hip.
It was funny, since not even four years ago, they spoke to each other with disdain.
Medic was a shut-in who preferred his own company. Scout still had childish tendencies, and Spy was an arrogant man who they wouldn't have in a million years called him their "leader."
It was a wonder how those three ever became close, but then again, it was a wonder how he and Sniper, or even Soldier, Pyro, Demo, and Engineer ever became friends.
It was a wonder how any of the BLU team even came to see each other as family.
"You can leave this place with no issue," Heavy said to Spy one night.
The two of them were alone on the balcony smoking, the forest quiet and dowry. There wasn't much to do most days at this location, mostly since this base was more for taking over a land area rather than stealing intelligence or delivering a bomb.
He didn't mind it as much as the other BLU's did, mostly since stealing intel was a longer con and more stressful, having to keep an eye out 24/7 and plan for their next moves, as opposed to standing guard near a capture point in case a RED tried to steal it back. It gave him some time to think instead of always having to be on his toes.
"Pardon-moi? What do you mean?" Spy asked, surprised he was speaking to him.
Heavy was not offended that Spy was taken aback by his sudden spark of conversation, as the two of them rarely had quiet moments like this together. He had never respected the Spy enough to give him an ear before, but now that they had enough time, he decided to finally speak with the French man rather than listen to him arrogantly ramble about plans and how much better they were.
Curiosity got the better of him, he supposed.
"For a man with "no background," you are seeming to stay here for no reason. It is waste of time." He said, emphasising the "no background."
Spy's frown deepened, and he looked away from him and out to the forest that extended for a few miles.
Before they were cloned, within the first few months their originals began working together, RED Medic discovered he and Scout were related. It wasn't exactly a secret; nearly everyone knew but never commented on it. Though Heavy suspected Scout knew, but didn't exactly know if Spy truly was his father before Medic's discovery.
For all the trouble Jeremy gave everyone, he was clever.
After that, the two of them began to argue frequently, with Scout picking fights with him over trivial matters and Spy acting defensively. Heavy never blamed either side, but even though he never said it out loud, he agreed with Scout.
Heavy and Scout were very similar in terms of being fatherless.
However, a year after being cloned, Spy became less defensive and more open with everyone. He had no idea what caused this change; if anything, he expected Spy to be the first to leave with nothing holding him down now.
He never did, even if he could make as many excuses as he wanted, such as the fact that the contracts bound him or that he had more business here. Eventually, those excuses ran out as well.
"You have changed." Heavy notes, inhaling before exhaling, smoke pluming from his mouth.
"You are less hostile."
Spy looked surprised and coughed on the smoke, covering his mouth. He heard him clear his throats before he spoke with a strained tone, choking. "You think I have become soft? You must be mistaking me for someone else."
Heavy looked back at him and inspected him, seeing the tension spike in him. His fingers twitched, with his hand moving to his cigarette often as if to take it out.
"The Spy would not be so obvious with nerves."
Spy caught himself mid reach for his cigarette and hugged his hands together, his forehead becoming crestfallen.
"So why are you still here?" He asked again, taking the cigarette from out of his mouth. He missed his cigars. "You have masking tool, it would not be hard to leave. Why have you not left?"
Leaving wasn't difficult for the man, that much he's proven with Scout.
Spy huffed, leaning against the concrete railing in thought. A few seconds passed before he answered. "I suppose for the very same reason you… Mikhail hadn't left his sisters."
"And that is?"
Spy spit out his smoke and tossed it over the balcony railing. He then pushed himself off the railing and slid his hands into his pocket, turning around. He waited a moment before answering him.
"Family."
Heavy gave him an odd stare, before huffing and clapping his shoulder. Spy looked back at him in shock as Heavy smirked, approving.
There was a mutual respect between the two of them after that conversation, and as always, Scout was the catalyst for most of the things that happened on the team. He wondered what the RED teams dynamic would've been if Jeremy had started a conversation with Spy rather than avoiding the problem. There was most likely a chance they would've bonded and become a family like the BLU team did.
There wasn't anything he could do about that now, not with those monsters and how shaky the future was looking.
Trudging down the halls, his thoughts went back to the plan. He had hoped they would have made a backup plan in case something went wrong. But they had neither the skill nor the time to come up with a firm plan.
RED Sniper's plan wasn't a bad idea. It was good enough that there was enough flexibility in case something went wrong. But he didn't trust RED Sniper like he did BLU Sniper. RED Sniper hadn't gone through the same things as BLU Sniper had. They were two different people at this point.
Even so, for some reason, there was an inkling of camaraderie Heavy held for him. It could've been his face that looked like a younger version of his Sniper, or even his general attitude that had a playful side that wasn't replaced with stoic professionalism. But he placed his trust in him even when he shouldn't.
RED Sniper was still Sniper, even without the same experiences.
Doubt still plagued his mind.
Heavy's elbow hit the bag he had packed, and he shifted it away from him, careful to not damage the contents inside it. He packed what little Medic could provide him with inside of the extra duffle bag Scout had left in his exam room, the two bottles of health kits clanging against the metal of Medic's "surgical" tools—the tools being more like extra weapons Heavy never saw him use.
He knew the equipment would do little to help him, not with the fact the monsters couldn't even be considered a physical threat with how unnaturally strong they were. Though if he and Sniper had to cut off one of their limbs or got an injury that was potentially life threatening, it would help in a pinch.
But he wasn't as concerned with him or Sniper getting injured, since he assumed the bigger monster had absorbed most of the RED team. The RED team had a smaller base, and if Sniper, Demo, or Jeremy hadn't stumbled into the smaller monsters when making their way to the BLU base, then they, the monsters, were most likely either in the BLU base, wandering outside, or with the bigger monster.
Still, he had to be wary. He didn't want to let down Medic if he got caught and couldn't retrieve the Medi-gun.
He hadn't been outside since he first started running from the monsters, only having stayed within the perimeters of the hallways and extra rooms, and since they were in the desert, he knew it was hot outside.
Normally, he'd be grateful for the heat, since being cloned he was always cold, but now the thought of being under the glaring sun was… stressful, for a lack of better words.
If those monsters were outside, he would be like a stain on a white t-shirt. Add in his tacky, bright blue shirt and large size against the orange of the desert, and he would be caught in only a matter of a few seconds.
Sniper had taught him enough that he knew how to conceal his trail, but compared to Sniper's lankiness, Heavy was large. Physically hiding was impossible.
He didn't have a choice in the matter, though, and Heavy's eyes darted to locations to hide in. Some crevices were too small, others too wide, and some rooms were too bare to hide in.
Thankfully, as he walked through the base, he was approaching more familiar locations that everyone frequently fought in. Although that would do little since the monsters were his teammates and enemies, who knew the ins and outs of the battle grounds after 7 months of fighting in 2fort.
As he descended the hall, he pressed Scout's duffle bag closer to his side, practically crushing it tightly in a side hug while still attempting to be careful. He didn't want to damage the contents.
The health kits clinked in the bag, and the thought of why Medic didn't give any of the RED team health kits crossed his mind. Though the thought quickly evaporated when he considered that it was Medic. He figured it was because he didn't want to give up something valuable, especially with how little he had, and the fact that he didn't want to give some to the RED team, anyway.
He sighed through his nose. Even if he disagreed with that stubborn, apathetic side of Medic nowadays, he knew that the doktor was only looking out for them and himself.
There were only a few sounds: the buzzing of the lights above him, the occasional crackle of the building settling, and the white noise that filled the space when it became too quiet. His hefty steps echoed through the halls, the metal of Medic's extra weapons clashing with one another and the two healing kits.
He glanced over to a sign that pointed to the North of himself, the only word written on the sign in big bold letters being 'BATTLEMENTS.'
He tensed and went to grip the strap of the backpack, biting his teeth together. He had chased through the base, but now he had a high chance of running into the big monster or one of the RED or BLU members. Slightly, he hoped to run into one of his own. Since then, he would know how to deal with them.
He plodded down the hall, his gaze drawn to any escape routes or hideaways he could find.
The location only became more familiar as he walked through, with extra rooms containing more equipment and the dust in the hallways decreasing.
The lighting had also brightened considerably, revealing more structural damage. Had he been lost rather than chased by monsters, he would have appreciated seeing the familiar sight of the damage and locations the BLU team frequented. But now he dreaded having to move forward.
The monster, if it had their memories, would know that this was the place all of them frequently worked.
He rounded a corner and finally spotted the intelligence room, the twin doors slightly ajar, with the lights inside flickering on and off.
Something had been inside.
Heavy didn't have a choice but to move forward. The only way to reach the rest of the battleground in this direction was through the intel doors. Not many of them bothered to go in this direction when heading to the battle grounds since it was far from any locations they went to often, so for the doors to be open meant something had passed through.
Who or what? He didn't know.
He toed forward and pawed the doors open, hearing the two doors open with a creak as he peered in the devastated room.
No glass was on any of the windows in the viewing room. The walls were pockmarked with bullet holes, and tossed chairs from the meeting room were scattered carelessly across the room. He glimpsed at the viewing room and saw that around half of the monitors had been destroyed, crushed like they were nothing.
Something leaked off the ceiling, sloppily dripping onto the ground, and Heavy looked up to see what looked like gas leaking. He scrunched his nose and walked around it, while simultaneously trying to avoid the chair and glass scattered on the ground.
There was static on the giant screen. The phone receiver beeped noisily, and he heard what he thought was a pipe that burst, hissing gas.
He wasn't sure if the Administrator or their boss would care to try to repair the damage that had been done. Likely, it wouldn't matter once they move to their next base. If.
He pinched his lips and proceeded to the next room. While approaching the slope, he noticed the sign 'CONTROL ROOM' overhead. He carefully climbed up the slope, inspecting the damage as he went. The railings were snapped off, and the vents dented inwards, as if they imploded. The walls looked as if they were also pushed outwards, like something large had come through.
Both the door leading to the main area and the control room had been ripped off its hinges, and the glass was destroyed, the safety net alongside it.
He methodically approached the glass that gave him an overhead view of the main area, large shipping crates in the centre of the room with chains that hung off the walls, meant to hook large objects to it, and he pried his gaze away from the battle area he's already seen thousands of times.
He exited out of the control room, seeing the metal stairs that led down to the battlements.
The metal creaked beneath his weight, and some steps were missing, leaving gaping holes.
The metal of the stairs was warped, and most of the railings were gone. There was also a trail that led up to the glass, as if something had crawled upwards and shattered it.
Heavy ignored it and concentrated on making his way down. He didn't need to spiral right now. He couldn't afford to.
It was then that he heard a faint swoosh.
Much too similar to that of Spy's cloaking device.
His blood had drained, and he hurried down the remaining steps, unconcerned about the noise he was making. The metal staircase shook beneath his weight, and when he got to the bottom, he heard something crack in the control room.
His head whipped up in horror as he saw a blue t-shirt before recognizing the owner of the shirt.
His skin was dark, and he bared too many teeth for his expression to look like a natural grin. "Heavy, lad!" Boomed Demoman, his voice bouncing off the walls of the giant room.
They stared each other down, with Demoman slowly tilting his head.
He then pattered down the stairs with an alarming speed.
Heavy let out a short scream unwillingly, staggering backwards before sprinting through the shipment crates. He weaved between each of the crates, hearing Demo get ever closer to the bottom of the staircase.
The main area wasn't large enough, nor did it have enough spaces big enough for Heavy to hide in, but he also knew that outrunning Demo would be next to impossible.
"Heavy! Y'know where the others are? Can't find 'em! Can't find 'em!" His heart dropped at the clearness in Demo's tone.
Demo's vocal cords, unlike Spy, Sniper, and Pyro, were unharmed. Heavy couldn't decide which was worse: hearing those three whose vocal cords had been damaged or hearing someone so coherent that it was unsettling. The thoughts disappeared when he heard him yell his name.
"Where're ya at, Heavy?"
Heavy rounded the corner, tripping over his feet, looking for a hiding place.
He raced, panting, until he noticed a slightly cracked open crate out of the corner of his eye. The Russian rushed towards it without a second look, grunting and prying it open. The metal groaned under the pressure he applied, and he let out a quick gasp as it ripped open, heavy stumbling from the sudden pressure loss.
"Heavy? Ye ain't… yer avoidin' me?"
His breathing quickened, and he threw himself into the container, closing it just enough to let a sliver of light in. Then, walking backwards with delicate feet, he moved slowly to avoid making any noise.
Heavy wasn't a quiet person. He wasn't elusive like Spy or quick on his feet like Scout. Being as large as he was had benefits and drawbacks. But those advantages that normally helped him in battle weren't useful in this scenario.
He crept backward, rolling his feet with each step to keep any additional noise from escaping. Every sound seemed to bounce around inside the container, and he felt like he was being excessively loud.
"HEAVY!"
He violently flinched at the screaming of his name, as if Demo were in mortal danger.
"HEAVY! HEAVY!"
His heel tapped the back of the container, and he pressed himself deeper into the wall, as if it could absorb him.
Somehow, the thought of how he and his teammates would corner the RED team in battles came to mind; they didn't act like scared prey animals fearing for their lives, unable to with the respawn in effect. They wouldn't have been afraid even without the respawn machine, seeing as they don't fear death.
They didn't have the luxury of death this time, and they didn't have the luxury of the respawn either. Heavy didn't have that luxury, so he held his breath.
He stayed as quiet as possible.
When he heard another faint swoosh.
Heavy felt the beginnings of trembling, with nowhere to go but the corner of the container.
He focused only on where he thought he heard the noise, as the crate was too dark inside to see what was inside with him.
His foot struck the metallic container with a soft thud, though thankfully that didn't attract BLU Demoman's attention. He paid little attention to the noise, instead focusing on the soft footsteps that reverberated in his ears and the container.
Tap.
The footsteps were heavy and metallic, quick on its feet, but the weight was concentrated on the heels.
Tap, tap.
Heavy pressed himself up against the wall, his eyes bulging as his face dripped with sweat.
Tap, tap, tap.
He muttered a curse in Russian and looked around the corner he was huddled in; the crevice he had jammed himself into was tiny that he couldn't get around the monster using Spy's cloaking device. He knew the thing approaching him wasn't Spy, not with how far away he is from his original location.
Despite that, it had to be a monster in front of him. Fighting it off would be nearly impossible unless he wanted to attract Demo to himself, and manoeuvring around him was futile, given the monsters' strength.
He pressed himself further into the wall, the crate's walls slightly creaking at him pushing his shoulders against it.
"Who's there?" Heavy's voice rumbled from his throat, meek.
There was another faint swoosh before a pressure appeared around his chest in a mocking hug.
He gasped, a scream threatening to escape him when he heard a sharp hush. A hand flew to his mouth and clasped it with a death grip, the tinier body pressing itself against Heavy's chest.
Had it not been for his years of experience, he would've crushed his head or screamed out of terror.
"Shut up, fattie! Shut up!"
Jeremy.
Notes:
I'm so sorry for the late update, I got covid (who gets covid in 2024?) and some migraines sprinkled in, so I haven't been feeling the greatest. 0/10 would NOT recommend it. I still have it as I'm writing this. So I'm sorry for any mistakes.
This chapter was originally going to be Sniper's pov, but if I made you guys wait for Medic's pov, it would've diminished the feels and suspense from the last chapter. Heavy's pov was also meant to be later on, and it wasn't meant to introduce BLU Demo, but what can you do.
ONTO MORE FANART YIPPEE!
Three fanarts were made by Gravitytrips, Tiredsome, and oneandonlyratboy! Thank you so much to those artists for the fanart!
Tumblr: https/blog/boredgrace23-gracepotts