Beginning notes:
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Don't be afraid to criticize! I want to improve as a writer and any sort of critique or analysis is welcomed!

Chapter 16: Originals And Plain Guise

"Oi, what's with you as of late, wanker?" Mick questioned the Spy.

"Are you going to keep following me?" Spy asked instead of answering.

"Yeah, I am gonna keep following you." Mick declared, eyeing him like he was looking at a complete stranger.

Spy scowled as he stalked down the hall, Mick close on his tail after he bumped into him while cloaked. It was strange, to say the least, and even if Mick refused to acknowledge that he knew Spy well enough to know his habits, it was unusual for the French bastard to be so clumsy with his cloaking.

In fact, Spy's been clumsy with just about everything as of late. Paranoid and antsy, and short with anyone and anything.

Admittedly, it wasn't like him.

He was typically more composed, and he definitely didn't walk around in such a dishevelled state as he did now.

Mick looked him over, his gaze concentrated on his crooked mask, the way his neat, clean-pressed suit jacket was askew, how he was missing a button or two from his collared shirt, and the fact he had lost one of his gloves.

His face was also unusually red, with sweat dripping from his chin as he panted, as if out of breath. It was like he got into a fight, but whether that "fight" was in someone's bed or an actual fight, he didn't ask or want to know any details.

"Things've been weird 'bout you lately." Mick told him.

"It is none of your business, bushman."

Which, yeah, he expected that sort of response from someone as stuck up as he was. Not to mention that, yeah, it made sense why he wouldn't tell him anything. They weren't friends.

"Yeah, nah, ya don't bump into other people. You've been weird lately, too. Something's up."

He claimed as he eyed the revolver Spy was holding, his fingers gripping around the handle.

Spy had been chary as of late, carrying around his pistol and acting more jumpy. He had also been hanging around Medic and Heavy more often. The three of them were an odd trio to see, but Mick didn't care until he thought more about everything strange that's been happening.

Not only had Spy been more paranoid, but Heavy and Medic as well.

They've been cagey with information regarding anything that wasn't outside of battles, and Medic and Spy were especially terse with each other these days, having gone as far as to start petty arguments with each other over useless, mundane tasks like washing the dishes.

Thankfully, Heavy broke these arguments, but Spy was still pushy whenever that happened.

It was like the three were waiting for something with how paranoid they were.

"There is nothing you need to know," Replied Spy, quickly.

"What? You datin' Heavy and Medic and got into an argument or some shit? 'S why you three've been anxious?" He asked, shoving his hands in his pockets and biting back a snicker. "Didn't know you were attracted to 'em; woulda pegged you for the typa guy to date your own clone."

He smirked when Spy quickly whipped around to look at him, his face having grown into a disgusted scowl at the prospect. He then audibly sighed in annoyance as the two came to a halt in the hallway, his nose scrunching in obvious frustration.

"Non, I am not dating any of those fools." He spoke in a manner that screamed 'the audacity.'

Suppose it made sense, though, that he would be offended that Mick would bring up the idea. He'd been putting off this conversation for too long now.

"Touchy, eh?"

If it were somehow possible, Spy's scowl deepened, and the wrinkles on his forehead became more prominent. He straightened himself and adjusted his tie as he spoke. "No, there is nothing wrong. You are merely annoying me."

"I'm only askin' 'cause ya bumped into me." And have been acting strange, though he didn't say that.

"It was an accident; an acceptable answer?" He queried rhetorically.

The two began making their way down the hall once more, the windows and wood that lined the hall of the second floor wearing down more as they walked, signifying they were near the communal room.

The RED base wasn't large, taking only about 15 minutes to walk through the entire thing completely, including each room, with the more private and personal quarters in a separate building a few metres away and off the battleground.

The personal quarters had their dorms, the garage, and storage unit, and while it wasn't as large as the primary base, it was large enough that it gave them some privacy from each other.

The main building, which was the building most battles were commonly fought in, held the Medic's exam room, Engineer's workshop, the cafeteria—which any of them rarely used all together—storage, weaponry unit, and other necessities within easy reach. Though most of them these days hang around their dorms, or in Mick's case, his van, which was in the garage to protect it from the heat of the desert.

He didn't get to use his van very often since they were usually travelling to different parts of the world, but when he did, instead of leaving it in some garage storage in the middle of bum fuck nowhere, it allowed him to take a break from sleeping in the same area as the other guys. If he had the option, he would never bunk in the same place as any of them. He had too many sleepless nights because of them.

Mick turned to Spy, pulling himself out of his musings as he shot another snip towards the Spy. "Thought spies don't make mistakes."

"No, I don't." He responds.

"Ya just said you did?" He said, brow quirked.

Spy went to rub the bridge of his nose when he paused as noticed his mask was askew, grumbling while adjusting it so it was proper again. He then smoothed out his collared shirt and just then noticed the buttons were missing, his expression curling into a snarl almost unlike him.

The snarl gave Mick pause, scrutinising the anger that swirled in his eyes that was unnatural and how his lips were twisted into an ugly glower that looked admittedly horrendous. It was like looking at a cruel man rather than the arrogant French bastard he's worked with for five years.

The expression was almost alarming, especially since he was usually frustrated or annoyed rather than outraged. Was the guy having a bad day or something?

"Calm down, I ain't tryna-" Mick cut himself short when his lour was turned to him.

He looked like he wanted to stab him in the throat, which, nah. He wasn't feeling like getting stabbed after being burned out of his post from the BLU Pyro today. The Australian halted, and he cringed. Ah shit, did he go too far?

"We're both gettin' riled up." Mick began, suggesting. "How's 'bout we go cool down, eh?"

Spy stared at him, his eyes darting from one eye to the other almost accusingly. After a few seconds, he averted his gaze and began massaging the bridge of his nose while muttering incoherently to himself.

It wasn't long before he turned back to face him, the two staring at each other for far too long, in Mick's opinion. He had no idea what he was thinking, only that he was attempting to smooth out his snarl. After a couple more seconds, the Frenchman turned completely away from him.

"Oui…" He answered.

They were stationary when, without another word to him, maintained his stalk down the hall at the same pace.

Mick was frozen in place as he watched his back disappear around the corner, the heels of his shoes dissolving entirely a few seconds later. It wasn't before long there was the sound of a door creaking shut and muffled conversation that was drowned out by the buzzing of the tube lights above Mick, as well as a faint, humming ringing in his ears.

A thought came to him then.

What the hell was his problem?

The Australian picked the skin around his thumbnail. Spy was acting erratic, and though he wanted to follow him and listen to the muffled conversation, he knew he'd be caught. But, honestly, after that reaction, being caught would be preferable to being left wondering why he was acting so erratically.

He wouldn't say he was worried about him. Worrying was more Demo's job, though he was definitely concerned with everything surrounding him. Nothing about this screamed right.

And if he's learned anything from Scout, it's that he should always trust his instincts. He had to give Scout credit where credit was due. He was nothing if not clever.

Mick stared at the spot Spy was before turning away and walking to the showers, as he had originally planned, before Spy bumped into him. He'll question him later; he didn't want to be in the direct line of fire if Spy was that pissed off.

As he walked back the way he came from, he couldn't clear that image of Spy out of his mind. That wasn't like him. It was unnatural. It was like staring at a stranger wearing the mask of Spy. Which was ironic, to say the least.

He wasn't Spy's friend, and Spy wasn't his. They were coworkers, but no matter how he tried to rationalise it, it didn't make any sense.

Mick bit his thumb and chewed on the skin nervously. He wasn't nervous that he would hurt him. Far from it, he couldn't give a shit if he did. But it was just the ferocity of the glare, and the anger and even hint of anxiety in his gaze that gnawed at Mick.

That expression he wore was like looking at a stranger, unlike anything he's ever seen on a man, especially on someone like Spy who acted arrogant for the sake of annoying someone.

There weren't any other words he could describe it as besides belonging to a stranger.

Mick wouldn't pretend that he knew Spy on a personal level. He didn't care about his habits, his routines, or his nervous ticks. Spy will always be the man he would turn his nose away from. But for all the trouble the man gave him, and no matter how much Mick tries to deny it, he'd work alongside Spy long enough to know his personality.

Mick hissed when a sharp pin stab pain shot through his hand, pulling his thumb out of his mouth to look at the blood that dribbled from the area he was chewing.

'Ah, fuck,' he thought to himself.

He needed to stop stressing.

He weaved through the condensed hallways to the staircase, walking down the steps methodically as he heard the wood creak beneath his weight.

The lights above him caused an ever so slight ringing in his ears, and the Australian glanced up at the buzzing tube lights that flickered in and out every so often, small ticking noises emanating from them.

If there was one thing he was grateful for when he moved to the next base, it was not having to deal with those lights again. They reminded him too much of the doc's office, and he fucking hated that place.

Even if he told himself to stop worrying, he couldn't get rid of that wrongness.

There was obviously something wrong with Spy, and not only Spy, but Heavy and Medic as well. Whether it was because they were going to do something, or they've already done something, he needed to know.

Mick's finger twitched with paranoia, a type of anxiety washing over him that he couldn't talk himself out of. Something was wrong with those three, and not getting an answer for anything caused a nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Something was wrong.

And he needed to know.

He slowed to a stop in front of the communal shower, not realising he had already reached the room. He opened the door with little care, hearing the door creak in the empty stalls. The showers were empty, save for the few socks and shirts lying about in the room.

Pristine white surrounded him, much cleaner than the rest of the buildings, as he made his way further into the room, locking the door behind himself. While he knew the team liked having easy access to the rooms, he didn't give a shit. He liked his privacy, and he was going to have said privacy.

He pulled off his shirt a few seconds later, taking off his shoes, pants, and underwear afterwards, tossing them carelessly to the corner of the room where he hoped wouldn't get them soaked. He briefly thought about heading to his van to grab some extra clothes, though pushed it out of his mind. It didn't matter if he wore the same clothes or not; it was just his uniform, anyhow.

He went to the tap in the corner of the room, the metal of the valve creaking, and icy water hit him, chilling him to his core.

"Bloody hell, that's cold." Mick muttered.

Pebbles, dust, and sand fell from his head, causing the clotted blood in his hair to loosen, with stained orange-brown water flowing down his back. He wasn't sure if the blood was his or someone else's, but he assumed it was his own seeing as he never got close in battles.

The stained water pooled around his feet, the small rocks hidden in the crevices of his body flicking off of him and hitting the tiled floor.

He scrubbed out the stains on his body, waiting for the water to cool, and when it didn't, he frowned.

Standing away from the shower, he heard the creak of the knob as it reverberated in the now quiet room, body brittle from the cold shower.

It wasn't that he wasn't used to cold showers, having to often take them when living in the outbacks of Australia. Though it was unusual for the water to be cold in this part of the world, especially with the water boiler being outside, and the water being lukewarm most days and practically boiling on others.

He frowned in thought, when the realisation came to him some seconds later.

Did the BLUs shut the hot water off?

Unless a wild animal came by and turned off the water, which was unlikely with how small the valve was, he couldn't come to any conclusion besides that. He wouldn't put it past them either with how touchy they were about the RED team.

"Bloody pikers." He grumbled.

His feet slapped against the tiled floor before returning to his clothes and forcefully putting them on in frustration. He didn't feel like drying himself off if he was going to get dirty again out in the desert.

His clothes rubbed uncomfortably against his skin, his hair still sticky and wet as he stormed out of the showers.

The one day he decided to take a shower, and the BLUs shut off the hot water. Which is just great.

So, not only was he burned alive by their Pyro, the hot shower was shut off, his clothes and skin were still wet, but now he had to go and get himself dirty back in the desert.

Great.

Perfect.

He turned to the corner when he abruptly halted at seeing Heavy and Scout round the corner, flinching back to avoid hitting into the other men.

They both spoke with another though paused mid-conversation in favour of observing him.

Mick gave them a nod in greeting, Heavy reciprocating as Scout tilts his head and folds his arms, brows arched.

"Didja take a shower?" Scout questioned. "'Cause ya look like ya took a dip in ice water."

"Yeah, bloody BLU bastards shut the hot water off." He grumbled.

Scout scoffed, one side of his lip curling as his nose scrunched. "You kiddin' me?"

"Shower was cold when I got in."

"Why the hell would they do that? Thought they died easily in the cold or somethin'?"

Mick shrugged, and Scout scoffed once more. He cursed the BLU off, though he tuned it out to look at the Heavy, who was staring silently back at him, his expression twisting into something unfamiliar. The Australian observed his expression for a moment, trying to discern what he was thinking, before shaking his head and giving a low grunt.

"Don't matter, I'm gonna run out and turn it back on." He said.

"Are you sure that is good idea?" Said Heavy, finally speaking since running into Mick.

There they were again, being odd.

Mick gave him a strange look, brow arched. "Yeah?"

Heavy stared at him with that same indiscernible expression before he grunted and said, tone low. "Be careful."

Mick blinked before slowly nodding. "Yeah, was gonna anyway. I don't feel like bein' killed again."

He grunts, and Scout pats Heavy's shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, let's get goin'! I've been really hoping to try this move I seen today!" He then circled around Heavy to his back, attempting to push him while Heavy stared straight ahead, ignoring Scout's antics. "Let's go, let's go, let's go, let's go, get movin'! I'll see ya later, man!"

"We are going now," Heavy said to Mick.

The Aussie nodded, watching as Scout pulled Heavy to where he assumed was the courtyard. Mick never grew up with siblings, being an only child to elderly parents, but seeing how they interacted reminded him of that sort of dynamic.

Scout rambled to Heavy, who quietly nodded along to whatever he was saying, and he observed them until they disappeared around the corner. Mick's chest clenched, the corner of his lips twitching into a downturn frown.

He stared at where they were before turning around himself and stalking to the boiler, trying to shove down that bitter, lonely feeling that crept around his chest.

As much as he thought of Scout as a friend, they weren't close friends. He wasn't close friends with anyone on the team. He'd like to keep it that way, too.

He walked to the exit and shoved the door open with his foot, causing the hinges to squeak. The hot air hit his face, dust had been kicked up, and the sky was an orange-pinkish tint, setting quickly. The gravel, sand, and dried grass crunched beneath his shoes as he proceeded to the boiler.

The numbness that set in after the icy shower had dissipated under the heat of the setting sun, though water still dripped off his hair, clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin, albeit drying rapidly.

There was a faint ringing in his ears, though he ignored it.

It was then that Mick heard a loud moaning sound of metal warping, pinching his brows and speeding up to the source of the sound. Dirt and sand kicked up behind him as his speed walking pace picked up.

'Something is wrong,' his thoughts told him.

As he turned the corner, his eyes widened, and he stared, baffled.

Spy rapidly twisted the valve until it jammed, the man groaning from the effort of twisting the valve until it stuck, before brushing the dust from his gloved hands afterwards. He couldn't tell what his expression was with his back facing towards him, though his shoulders were slightly hunched in what he thought was him taking a breath.

It wasn't until Spy went to pick up a wrench from off the ground that he was abruptly snapped from his stupor.

"Oi, the fuck are you doing?" Mick demanded.

Spy froze, dropping the wrench simultaneously, and turned to look at Mick, skin paling, though he quickly smoothed out his shocked expression for a more collected look.

"Bushman." He greeted him, clearing his throat.

"I didn't ask for a hello. What the fuck are you doing tampering with the water?" There were beads of sweat and water from his damp hair that rolled down his face, face etched with anger as he demanded for an answer.

Spy kicked the wrench away from sight, his hands going to his back. "Nothing."

"Are you- what the bloody hell are you doing, you French bastard?!"

Spy remained silent, and just as he was about to answer him with what Mick assumed was another lie, he snapped at him to stay quiet. He didn't need excuses; he needed answers.

"I asked what the actual living fuck are you doing?" He demanded, storming towards Spy as he jabbed his finger into his chest. Spy grunted, though he didn't care. "Not only have you been fucking around as of late, you've also been sneaking off to god knows where, having whispered conversations with Medic and Heavy, and now I find you fucking with the water system? Have you gone crazy?"

Spy's expression warped into one of disgust, lip curled downward as he pushed Mick's hand away. "Haven't I already told you, it is none of your business-"

"The hell it is!"

Mick's nose flared while the two of them looked at one another, the French man's brow twitching. It wasn't long before he sighed slowly, unbothered, as he looked away from him in favour of staring at the wrench.

"You wouldn't like the answer-"

"I wouldn't like anythin' coming out of your slimy mouth! But that's better than sittin' on my ass wonderin' if you're planning to betray our asses!"

"Do you always wonder something like that?" Spy snapped.

"'Make a plan for every person you meet.' I've said that, yeah?" Mick began, taking a step back from Spy as he gave him a tight lip frown. "I know sleazy bastard types like you. worked with 'em. Every last one of you bastard spies always stabs others in the back."

"What part of "none of your business" do you not get?" He rounded Mick and thumbed the handle of his revolver that stuck from his pocket in a circular motion, turning back to him with another glower much like the glare he gave him earlier. "I am not going to stab you in the back, but if you must keep insisting, I will!"

Mick sardonically laughed, albeit with a hint of defeat leaking into his tone unintentionally.

"Yeah, I always knew you would."

Despite having worked with the team for as long as he had, he could never bring himself to trust them enough to not betray him. He always makes a plan for everyone he meets, always having to because he knows that one day, they'll leave him behind to bite the dust. He couldn't trust them to be good people.

Despite his friendship with Scout, the only reason he even trusted to turn his back to him was because he knew the kid was loyal enough to make the right decisions. He was also an idiot and Mick, for starters, trusted idiots. Because idiots don't think twice when it comes to the brittle bridge of lies and what life means. Unlike the man who lived in lies standing in front of him.

Spy paused when he heard that tone, staring at him with a look that Mick couldn't place. He remained quiet, contemplative, as he looked into his eyes with an inexplicable look with the wrinkles in his face gently relaxing, shoulders untensing.

"Bushman, what do mean by that?" He sounded… concerned.

Mick furrowed his brows, taken aback by the sudden change in tone. He went to answer him, trying to tell him that frankly, he didn't give a rat's ass if he died or if the entire team went up in flames, though the moment was short-lived when he was interrupted by an abrupt boom from behind him.

The sound of cracking behind cut him off, wood and metal moaning accompanying the crash that sent a heavy thud through his chest, feeling the weight of the volume through his bones as it shuttered the surrounding area.

The two looked in the direction where they heard the noise from, Mick staring at the location, which was around the corner he had come from.

There was crashing from behind the building, along with a cacophony of sounds that he couldn't discern. Laughing, crying, muttering, and incoherent babbling emanating from what sounded like a crowd of people, each word reverberating throughout his body.

"THERE'S TOO MUCH!"

He paused, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Spy halt as well.

"HELP US! HELP US! HELP US!"

"Need more… there's so much more…"

"THE RINGING!"

"The- the… white? Is that what it is? The end…?"

"I can't move my legs…"

"The ringing. It's so annoying."

"LOUD! LOUD! THEY'RE TALKING TOO MUCH!"

"MOM! MOM, PLEASE! IT HURTS!"

Mick felt his blood drain, rapidly paling as each word shuttered through him, rippling through every part of his body. His bones and teeth rattled, his brain shook from every yell they heard, and his muscles locked. His body constricted hearing the wordy throated screams.

"What the hell?" Mick muttered.

A hand then grabbed Mick's wrist, swiftly pulling his hand back like the touch stung him as he turned to Spy, who had dawned a horrified look, giving Mick pause at the expression unlike the arrogant man.

"We need to go!" He yelled.

Mick didn't deem him an answer, readying to sprint ahead when something cracked in the building's foundation, rumbling the ground beneath them. The two staggered to stand straight and turned back around to look at what was happening.

Mick felt his mouth dry when his eyes laid on something inhumanly large.

The heads of so many people, in the dozens, the ones that haven't been fully consumed in that thing, turned to look at the two of them.

Their eyes were on them, staring, wanting, and waiting.

Though, over the sounds of clambering over one another and the increasing ringing in his head, all the heads' expressions in the monster shared a single trait: pure, utter terror.

It towered over the second floor story of the base, wide and clear in its voices, moving much like how a kaleidoscope does.

"THE RINGING!"

Men, women, and children spoke in a choir, several voices either deep, high-pitched, nasal, or shattered. They overlapped one another, all the while still remaining individualistic.

He staggered backwards, espying Spy doing the same.

"What in the actual living fuck is that?!" Mick cried.

Spy shook his head slowly. "I… do not know… I didn't-"

Mick staggered backwards, slipping on the sand beneath him as he twirled around on his heel, slipping before crawling back to the stand. Spy was close behind him, the two of them sprinting away from whatever the fuck that thing was.

Sobs of agony and despair, along with laughter, chatter, and babbling, were heard behind them. Clashing against the infrastructure caused by the monster echoed around them, the clapping of feet and hands, and skin slapping each other bounced around the two men, wet and sloppy noises that sounded like gel being tossed against the wall heard faintly.

Sniper's feet pounded against the ground, heart thrumming and panting while sprinting from the monster.

Beside him, Spy had taken his revolver from out of his pocket, pivoting around as he heard the bang of the revolver echoing throughout the desert. He threw his hand to his ear and gazed at Spy with a snarl.

"Ya shot that near my ear!" Hissed Mick.

"Would you rather be deafened or be taken by that thing?" He barked in inquiry.

Mick went to snap back at him when it wasn't long before there was another thunderous bang of the gun, followed by another, another, then another, and Spy's expression changed to one of utter shock, dread, and horror.

More cracking of the base's foundation was heard, the noises from that thing echoing in the surrounding area. Their cries, sobs, rambling, and laughter bounced off the walls, leaving Mick with a splitting headache as the voices rooted themselves deep inside the crevice of his brain.

Too much noise bounced around in his head, and Mick grunted as he cusped his ears to block out as much noise as possible. The ringing was too noisy.

"Guns don't work." Spy muttered.

Mick looked at Spy, his forehead wrinkling at the reaction, before he returned his attention to whatever the fuck that thing was, but the moment was short-lived as he noticed a grey object rapidly approaching them.

Spy stumbled backwards to dodge it, leaving Mick to bear the brunt of the impact. Too late to move.

Something fast and sharp struck his temple, causing him to cry out in pain as his hands flew to his head. His vision darkened, though he espied Spy rushing towards his side, panicked.

There were moments in between that Mick couldn't discern what was happening.

Blurred figures interlocked.

Voices muffled.

And the ringing in his brain never vanished, buzzing in his brain, screaming.

"Run—" came a muted voice.

His breathing was heavy, chest thumping in his ears, with his vision splotching near the edges. His head was like it was on fire, something warm seeping into his hair, as his body flushed warmly.

"Run Bushman!" Spy's voice, he believed, was loud. Louder than he ever heard it. And worried. As if he were a concerned parent. It was a ridiculous thought, and one he wasn't even aware of would make as much sense as it did.

Mick dazedly looked at Spy, blinking slowly, and when the French man had noticed his lack of movement, picked him up by the collar and dragged him behind the fence.

"Did you not hear me?! I said we need to run!" He hissed.

Mick's voice was slurred. "Spook, what-"

"Are you slow?!" He shouted, throwing him down carelessly and straightening himself. "Quit speaking and hide then, if you are going to be a useless sack of potatoes!"

"What's happenin'-"

Spy slammed a hand to his mouth to prevent him from speaking, tossing his revolver to him without so much as a hesitation or delicateness as he normally would with his possessions.

Mick stared at the revolver in his lap, methodically blinking at it for a moment to discern what it was, before gazing back up at Spy.

"Trust the ringing in your ears," Spy whispered to him.

Mick watched as the man stood up with the elegance of a gazelle being chased by a lion, cloaking and disappearing in a cloud of smoke soon after.

He watched the empty area, hearing clashing behind him, with metal warping and groaning beneath the pressure of that monster.

Mick laid in that spot, breathing heavily, only to be brought to the present by clashing. He didn't know if he passed out or not, or if he was awake and couldn't comprehend what was happening.

Too much ringing filled his head. Screams of anguish, chuckling like a funny joke had been told, and mutterings of a madman spoke over his thoughts, the words muffled in his ear.

There were a few moments in between that he couldn't tell what was happening, blanks that were filled with darkness, and other times, a blurry, monster-esque figure that was large enough to engulf the surrounding area looming in a certain area. Waiting.

He stayed deathly still.

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.

Mick stumbled as he respawned, gasping and choking on air while grasping his neck fruitlessly. He coughed violently, hacking on rancid bile that burned the roof of his mouth, and his saliva caught in the bottom of his throat.

He coughed up spit and vomit, hearing it disgustingly hit the floor with a wet slop as he clutched his stomach and head with an oozing nausea that clenched his intestines uncomfortably. His vision distorted as he blearily looked at his hands, trying to discern reality from the memories that flooded rapidly at a pace his brain couldn't keep up with, his head pounding.

He groaned as he held his head, falling to his knees while clawing his hair in an attempt to stop the agony that pounded his brain.

His mind flurried, storming for answers, only to receive even more questions at the memories that fluttered into his mind one after the other. It was like a wave had hit him—memories, thoughts, and emotions firing rapidly and screaming the truth at him.

The truth being that it was Spy who shut off the water.

It was like something clicked in his mind at seeing the memories. The memories felt right as they did wrong.

Spy shut off the water.

Spy knew something.

And it wasn't hard to put together that Medic and Heavy knew something as well.

But out of all the thoughts and memories that rushed to him, one stood out: What the fuck was Spy doing?

Disgusting bile climbed up his throat, and he gagged, vomiting on nothing but his empty stomach as the thought of Spy lingered in his mind. His stomach tightened, and he curled in himself, forehead pressed against the floor as he waited out the nausea.

Seconds passed before it turned to minutes.

Slowly, the sickness subsides enough for him to think straight, coughing on the vile taste of the vomit left behind in his mouth.

There was the faint buzzing of the lights from above him, and he glanced up, eyes narrowed as he inspected the respawn room.

The shutter doors, still ajar, shuddered and clicked on their gears, attempting in vain to automatically open the jammed door, just as they had hours ago. But he wasn't focused on that; he couldn't care for that, despite him hours earlier complaining about it being unable to open.

There were too many questions he had—too much that happened in the past hours that he still didn't have time to comprehend. He, at the very least, had an answer as to why he had Spy's gun, but now he was left with the question of why Spy was there, what he was doing, and what he was talking about when he said to trust the ringing in his ears.

Too many memories were welding in his brain to understand, to comprehend, what was happening. Unintentionally, he pathetically whimpered in agony when another wave hit him, scratching his scalp to soothe the pain.

He needed answers.

And he knows he'll get them. One way or another.

Notes:
Short chapter, I know, but holy FUCK was this chapter something I've been so excited for, because not only am I now introducing the BIG monster (which I hope isn't underwhelming since I've been hyping it up), but I've also been teasing that gun twist for MONTHS now! SINCE CHAPTER 1! I've also had this flashback planned since chapter 8 where, if you read the notes, I said I was originally planning on killing Sniper but ended up going in a different route. Holy SHIT. I've been waiting so long to reveal this. YES!
Though I'm honestly surprised no one called out this twist. I guess it was kind of like that selective memory social test. I noticed in the comments people were more concerned with everyone surviving rather than the smaller details like Spy's gun. So I tried using that to my advantage. But you do not understand how much I was stressing out about accidentally revealing this twist whenever the gun was mentioned, because it only took one person asking why Sniper had Spy's gun for everything to unravel. Or at least, I HOPE it's a plot twist.

Anyway, I got more FANART!:
It was made by anonymous! Gah! I love it so much! It's exactly how I envisioned Scout looking when he was half-melted! The eyeball? THE TEETH SCATTERED? Perfection.