The first thread ( http://tf2chan.net/afanfic/res/9805.html )stopped moving up after all, so the rest of "Our Lost Kingdoms" will be posted here. The end is fast approaching, so here's another vignette! In response to the last thread's last comments- 207- BLU Spy isn't an engineer, but he's practical! 208- Thanks for looking over that last one again. After I fixed it up, I sat around twiddling my thumbs and wondering if anyone would bother reading it again, or if it was an improvement at all. Gah. 209- I've been kind of imagining him as something like a splicer covered in metallic paint, or maybe the lovechild of The Thing and T-1000. When I'm done writing this one, I think I'll try drawing some of the scenes and locations, so people might know what the hell I was imagining. On a note, the insult BLU Spy has been using for his unlikely travelling companions- tête carré- is standard term for Anglophones, it means "square head". I don't write character's thoughts with accents or blurbs of other languages, which is why he "thinks it in English". He's really thinking in French, and it's all translated for the reader's (and writer's) sake. ___________________________ The conservatory's occupants were huddled among the scarred debris, listening for any sound that could betray someone's position. Background conversation was briefly heard over the public address, but nobody could discern who the voices belonged to, or what they were saying. Then Scout gave another call, one less bombastic and triumphant than the last. "Fuck, are you guys still alive out there? You didn't get hit, did ya? Uh, anyhow, we need you guys to keep that motherfucker in the greenhouse. Knock him down again, hold him in place, doesn't matter how you do it. Just pin him for as long as it takes us ta turn him into Swiss cheese." It was bizarre, hearing the boy catching his breath at ear-damaging volume. As if in afterthought, he added, "...shit. Tex woulda heard all of that, too." For the BLU Team's Spy, Scout's words were of no help. If he had known beforehand that the room was going to be sprayed by an autocannon, he would have scrambled for the nearest window. There was nowhere safe for him to hide from ricochets—even less so when the bullets were long as a cigarette and thicker than a man's thumb. It was by chance that Sniper survived the barrage unscathed, but Spy's luck had finally run out. As he scrambled to pull himself up, he caught a glimpse of a gaping wound in his left lung. The bullet had penetrated his ribcage as though he were made of cardboard, tunneling directly through his chest before exiting out his back. Spy turned his head away and grimaced, feeling his gorge rise. (I can't just lie here and die. There's still work to be done. Still have to kill that maniac.) The dispenser that Demoman left to get was like a forgotten promise. It was as useless to him as a dead unicorn’s horn. When he opened his eyes again, the world was turning grey all around him. (Not a good sign. I don't even know if I can talk right now. Perhaps it would be better if I don't come out. If Tex knows I'm dead, he'll know we've lost the advantage of numbers.) Sounds of people clambering around in the wreckage caught his attention. Spy wondered if Tex would make a break for it, hide in the lab or some godforsaken spot in the jungle. The airplane's mounted machinegun wouldn't reach him in there. Sure enough, he spotted a hunched figure crawling over broken glass, furtively plotting a course towards the alcove. Using the last of his strength, Spy drew in a painful breath, then shouted as loudly as he possibly could. "He's headed for the stairs!" The effect of his words was instantaneous, but Spy wouldn't be able to watch what he had started. As his voice died out, a surge of vomit followed, bubbly and crimson. Choking on his own blood, he collapsed and clutched at his throat, wracked with agony. Too weak to cough up the fluid pooling in his remaining lung, he bled out amongst the piled wreckage. Thoughts oozed around in his skull, and he tried to focus on them. It would be a better way to pass his last few moments than writhing from the terrible pain he was feeling. (Goddammit, I really thought I'd make it through this. That bitch, she'd better not declare this a loss for BLU... It wasn't the enemy that got me. It was one of her own damn people!) Even after his teammates were dispatched, Spy had survived in the jungle through his guile and ruthless determination. When the grim situation had become clear to the him, he even did what was unthinkable—he allied with the REDs to combat the renegade faction. Completing this mission was all that mattered to Spy. From shirking open fights to saving the RED sniper's life, everything he did was to prolong his time in the field. In his eye, the BLU team's success or failure had become his burden, his responsibility. Darkness closed in around him, and he felt as though his consciousness was rising up from the ruined husk of his body, leaving his pain behind. Before he surrendered to the respawn system's clutches, one last thought coalesced in his mind. It was sharp, gleaming and crystal clear, a shard of broken glass. (I went through so much bullshit, just to be finished off by friendly fire... ugh, now it's up to that RED sniper. You'd better finish him off for me, square-head!) There was no easy way for Sniper to contact the people inside the aircraft, but he hoped they were watching closely. He listened quietly, studying the debris for signs of movement. A hoarse shout broke his concentration—it was Spy’s last hue and cry, which was followed by wet coughing. Now that Sniper knew where Tex was headed, he was sure to pick up the pace. Sniper could not let him escape. "Right! We're ending this now!" he barked. Experiencing what must have been his seventh or eighth wind, he lunged towards the alcove, vaulting over ruined machining tools and jagged metal debris. Not far off, he could hear Tex scuttling across the floor, lurking in the shadows like a giant cockroach. The P.A. system screeched with feedback, causing Sniper to cringe. The racket was followed by a different kind of obnoxious noise. "Hey! You tryin' ta get him in position there, Sniper? We can't hear ya up here, so just wave for 'yes'." Sniper raised one hand and waved it around. He was looking at the floor, trying to pinpoint Tex's location. Another distorted ghost-conversation could be heard, background conversation finding its way onto the microphone. Sniper ignored it. The scrabbling of Tex's approach was getting nearer, and he knew things were coming down to one last, deadly gamble. "You're not gettin' through, ya bastard," Sniper rumbled, glaring at the wreckage heaps nearby. Tex was lurking behind one, doubtlessly preparing for his next move. (Where the hell has Spy gone?! This would be a lot easier if he were here to help me pin this yobbo down.) His frown deepened as the situation curdled in his mind. (...bloody Spy. Maybe he's hid. It's suicide they're asking of us, out here. Christ...) The mad genius emitted a raspy chuckle. "Ah've been goin' easy on y'all, but you've pushed me too far. You wanna' dance, pretty boy? When Ah toss you down those stairs this time, you're not gonna be gettin' up..." Sniper spotted movement in the nearest substantial debris heap and narrowed his eyes. The air conditioner formed the largest identifiable object in the pile. It was slowly rising, then tilting, as though someone were trying to get a grip on the thing's undercarriage. (Why in the hell would he be—) Before he could finish asking himself, the answer came to him. Shards of rubble scattered as Tex hefted the AC unit into his arms, handling the weight as though it were nothing. Giving a loud war-whoop, Tex hurled the large appliance at Sniper's head. He yelped in blind panic and threw himself to the floor, cringing while the air conditioner rocketed overhead. A gust followed in the unit's wake, tousling his dirty mane. (Oh Christ, that was a close call. Nearly lost my head there. ...why the fuck isn't that spy here to help me?!) Perhaps Tex had anticipated things might turn out this way, or perhaps he didn't care about the miss. Either way, he chased his projectile towards the alcove, paying no attention to the state of his enemy. Hissing obscenities under his breath, Sniper saw what the man was up to. When Tex tried to charge past him, he launched himself at his opponent's legs, knocking the maniac clear off the ground. Outside, a mechanical whine could be heard once again. The GAU-4 was spinning up. Tex took the same path as the A.C. unit, flying over Sniper's head and performing a belly-flop onto the floor. Moving through air that felt thick as molasses, the Australian turned to face the other way and pounced, landing on Tex's back. The maverick pulled himself up on hands and knees, thrashing wildly in an attempt to shake the larger man off his back. Sniper kicked his arms out from underneath him, pinning them under a pair of well-worn boots. Adrenaline stampeded through Sniper's system, igniting his blood and filling his belly with animal fury. He locked onto the rogue engineer’s neck, riding out Texas’s thrashes with an iron will. Tex stamped at Sniper’s ankles, drawing a sharp cry of pain from the Australian. Nonetheless, he held fast. Sniper's only advantage over Tex was his experience with wrestling wild beasts; man-eating tigers and crocodiles that could break your neck with a few good shakes. Even then, he didn't know how long his skill would trump Tex's strength. (...Not gonna last unless I can get that shock prod off his arm. Where’s my backup? Bloody pikers!) Beneath him, Tex was saying nasty things about everyone Sniper had ever known, and a number of other people he hadn't. The crazed genius had clearly never learned to wrestle, but he was giving Sniper a run for his money through raw power alone. From somewhere outside, the sound of shouting joined the mini-tat's whine. Sniper barely noticed. It was taking all his strength to hold firm, not only in regards to keeping Tex pinned down, but in his resolve as well. (Any second now... come on...) The bullets were going to fire at any moment. The anticipation was almost as bad as the actual sensation of being pulverized by heavy weapons fire. Footsteps reached his ears now, crunching over foliage and snapping branches, tempting him to lift his focus from the dangerous killer. A familiar voice bellowed, "What the hell're ye doin', Mundy?! Get away from that—fook, what IS that blasted thing?!†Only then did he lose his nerve and take a frantic look around, trying to locate the source of the noise. It was his Demoman. Sniper spotted him by the door with a metal contraption in his arms, Andy in tow. Demoman seemed to be surprised as he was. Feeling a pang of wild alarm, he blurted, "DeGroot! Stay back! It’s—" The GAU-4 cut off his words. It hosed down the alcove with a torrent of 20mm calibre death, turning the niche into a bloodbath. Cement and tile exploded in a hail of sharp fragments. Sniper was instantly torn to pieces, bones splintering and flesh turning to red mist, as he was struck by bullets intended for use against light armoured vehicles. The disintegrating body did nothing to shield Tex against the onslaught; his Australium skin ruptured under the autocannon's punishing force, splitting like an apple peel. If the tissue underneath had been empowered in his transformation, it made little difference in keeping him intact. It had only taken a few seconds for the machine-gun to pulverize both men, and propel their remains down into the stairwell. Sniper's macerated remains were soon claimed by respawn, but that luxury was not extended to Tex. His wretched carcass tumbled to a stop in the laboratory's open door, then lay there, twitching feebly—a grisly prize, waiting for the next unfortunate soul to descend the bloody staircase.
What an action-packed chapter! I kinda hope it gets cleared up that BLU Spy didn't leave Sniper out to dry. Tex HAD to stay down after all of that...right? He's dead, but does that mean he can't get back up? All bets are off when reading about Tex. Sniper's down, but there's still Demo and Scout. And I'm not sure if Soldier is clinging to life or not. Plus the teammates who're getting back via plane! Your porn is great, but I'm also loving your adventures and hope you can continue after this story. Great work!
Oh god, Engie's still unconscious isn't he? Will he find out Sniper got gibbed?
Are red spy, heavy and medic still on their way back?
>>2 I'm happy to entertain! Without giving too much away, Sniper will find out what happened to BLU Spy. >>3 He's bound to find out, since Sniper will be gone when he comes around. >>4 By this point, they're probably in a plane somewhere over the Caribbean. I touched on them way back there so people would know they hadn't given up on helping their teammates, but nothing important to the plot happened to them after that point. They've not been forgotten! With RED and BLU helicopter crews grounded, they'll end up keeping their Spy company at the hotel. It's a good thing that the BLUs are staying at a different hotel...
Tex, do everyone a favour and stay dead this time before you give me any more nightmares.
Holy shit, it's been over a month since I updated. I'm still hammering on the next part, but here's a short update. It's actually something I wrote before the yearly Ontario trip, but I'm not yet satisfied with the next vignette. ____________________________________ Demoman stood by the door, staring at the gruesome scene and trying to make sense of what he was watching. He might have stood longer, but the jury-rigged dispenser was heavy and taxing his arms. Still feeling confounded—not to mention, horrified—by the turn that things had taken, he wrenched his gaze from the alcove and tried to locate the injured men. (They were right over there! What in the bloody hell happened while I was away?) "Hey!" Andy's shouts reached Demoman's ears, but it took longer to reach his brain. "They moved the injured guys outside! Get your ass over here!" Realizing what Andy had been yelling about, Demoman turned from the conservatory and staggered over to where Engineer and the dying bodyguard lay. Soldier had been added to the list of wounded, while the Administrator was nowhere to be seen. A grunt of pain escaped him as he leaned over and set the machine down by the guard, his back creaking audibly. "Ah dinnae know how well it'll work for Her Majesty's royal guard. He got th'worse of it. We'd best make sure these other poor bastards are near enough they'll be healed, too." Andy groaned and fidgeted, clearly anxious about something. "Where's the Administrator?! Oh man, we gotta' get this thing to her or my ass is grass. S-She couldn't have gotten wasted, could she? I mean, she's a tough fuckin' broad, but she's gotta know when to run. Hey, speakin' of running, where's Dumbass and Miss Pauling?" As if answering his question, the voice of Scout suddenly came to them over the P.A. system. "Hey, we're comin' out. Clear some room around that healin' rig. The Administrator needs it." He sounded unusually disheartened, his voice quiet even through electronic amplification. "Scout?! Are you lot up in that beast of an airplane?!" Demoman realized a moment later that Scout probably couldn't hear him from down on the ground. Grumbling, he turned his attention to the wounded. The bodyguard was still breathing, which was the best one could say for him. On the other side of the dispenser, Engineer was starting to look less like an overcooked slab of meat. He stirred faintly as the dispenser did its work, groaning in pain. Although his face was resting in a ring of cloth, his eyes were uncovered. They opened a crack. After clearing his throat, he spoke in a voice that was roughened by smoke. "Is that you there, Tavish? Oh Lord, that blast musta' got me good." Demoman gasped faintly and kneeled beside him, peering at the visible half of his face. "Don't speak, mate. You'll be patched up soon. Just save your strength for now." He wanted to give Engineer a pat on the shoulder, but the skin there was rather tender. A reassuring grin was probably his best bet. The corner of Engineer's eye creased slightly, the ghost of a smile. Nearby, Soldier began coming around, his loud mouth quick to ramble incoherently. "...son of a bitch, I'll show you who's a goddamn fighter, and who's..." A coughing fit interrupted Soldier's semi-conscious tirade. As he managed to catch his breath again, his eyelids flickered. He grimaced in pain. "Where'd that freak of nature go? Is he—urgh, is he still around here?" "Soldier?" Realizing that the man in question had been present for the fight, Demoman turned to him and asked, "What in the bloody hell happened? The first thing Ah saw comin' back here was—" Demoman's voice stuck in his throat as he remembered what he had seen. Blood and viscera was scattered around the mouth of the stairwell, painting the broken tiles red. That hail of bullets had reduced the man to pulp, a stain on the landscape. Demoman thanked God for the respawn system, whisking away Sniper's remains to be made whole again. He couldn't stand thinking that the last place he'd see his drinking buddy would be sprayed across the floor. Soldier didn't wait for Demoman to find his voice, recounting the terrible incident that had taken place— the part that he'd been conscious for, anyway. "That cowardly pack of traitors had one last cheap trick to pull on us. Their Engineer is some kind of bulletproof zombie! He came up from below, pretending to be a wounded man. When Sniper went to help, that creepy bastard threw him down the Goddamn stairs! None of our weapons could kill the zombie-man, so I held him off while Scout and Miss Pauling got the wounded out of there." That left Demoman with a few answers, and a lot more questions than before. Rubbing his one good eyelid, he took a deep breath and tried to sort his thoughts. "Ah think Ah saw the monster you're talkin' about, but only for a moment. Sniper was wrestlin' him over there. ...then the folks up in the airplane blew both of 'em away wi' some great bloody machinegun." "Oh, no... Mundy..." Engineer squeezed his eyes shut. He sagged despondently, giving a hoarse groan. Grasping for threads of optimism, he sighed, "At least it was a quick death. ...I hope he can get back here without much trouble." Soldier was more positive about the departure of their sharpshooter—or rather, in light of Tex's demise, Sniper made an acceptable sacrifice. "Good. It's about time we had some positive news! I always heard Australians are supposed to be good at wrestling dangerous animals, but I never knew Sniper had that kind of testicular fortitude!" While they discussed the incident, scuffing footsteps could be heard. The Administrator was on her way over, carried by Miss Pauling and Scout. At the sight of them, Andy squirmed nervously and tried to make himself inconspicuous. Whether it was his upbringing or the time he'd spent on the island, he had an ability that was unusual among most Scouts: when his life was in danger, he could keep quiet. Scout greeted his teammates as best he could manage. "Ah, h-hey guys." The restorative power from his nap had been sucked dry by this last trial. With no hot shower, fresh food, or comfy bed in his near future, he had been pushed into the sulking zone once again. After the Administrator was situated by the dispenser, he sat amongst the wounded and slouched forwards, propping his chin on his knees. "Mr. Mundy... I can't believe I shot him," Miss Pauling sighed, and set to work examining the bodyguard. When he heard her comment, Demoman came to the wide-eyed realization that she had been the machinegun operator. He glanced at the small woman, trying to imagine her at the controls of an autocannon. However she managed the feat, something seemed to have left a bad taste in her mouth; both she and Sniper must have known how the manoeuvre would play out, but perhaps she was more sympathetic than anyone guessed. Her brow was faintly creased, her shoulders sagging as she glanced over at the Administrator. "How long will it be until the helicopters arrive, ma'am?" All of the mercenaries stared at their employer. The prospect of getting a medivac seemed too good to be true, but nobody wanted to jinx it by asking. Coolly smoking a cigarette as her burns faded, the Administrator wasn't in a hurry to answer. After letting her men dangle for a few moments, she spoke. "Not soon enough. Forty-five minutes or so. I requisitioned the BLU's remaining S-61R. It's considerably larger than ones RED was using. Their Huey will take care of the mercenaries." A sigh of relief rose from the group, aside from Soldier. He was positively livid. "What?! I don't want that dirty BLU spy in one of OUR choppers! Where is he, anyhow?" "By now? Teufort," the Administrator said, and sniffed irritably. "His life signs vanished from the monitor during that last fight." Scout looked over at the two women, frowning pensively. "Hey, what about Tex? I just remembered, that creepy motherfucker said you guys were probably tracking his team, too. He couldn't have survived gettin' shot by that huge fuckin' gun, right?" "Him and yous guys' Sniper got shot to shit, man. I was right by the door when it happened, I saw it! You can go downstairs and look if you ain't too chickenshit, but I fuckin' guarantee that he was in pieces when you guys were done with him." Andy was adamant that his deranged teammate had finally been killed, his conviction spilling over into his words. The Administrator frowned. "There may have been interference from that, hm... Australium 'skin' he was wearing. But our instruments reported the man as being dead." On hearing the Administrator's comment, Engineer sat bolt-upright. "What'd ya say? Ma'am, are you... d'ya mean ta say that mad-dog sonnova bitch stuck himself in that machine?" On sitting up, the others were suddenly able to see his face, and a few gave him weird looks. He didn't notice. When Sniper found him in the lab, the marksman's eyes had played no tricks—Engineer really did have a moustache now. "I believe so. Small arms fire had no effect on him. Mr. Tex must have been maimed in that explosion, but he was lively enough to come back from the dead and attack my men." The Administrator's customary frown deepened. "Like that dead man's hand..." Engineer was deeply troubled by this news. Engineer's cryptic statement wasn't reassuring. After the mercenaries traded confused looks, equally uncertain about the conversation and Engineer's facial hair, Demoman decided to speak up. He grunted, "You're no' makin' sense, mate. What's all this mean for us? Did ye find a hand of glory down in the Administrator's treasure trove?" Engineer opened his mouth and started talking, then paused to consider his words. It would be better to discuss the lab incident at a later date and stick to information that was useful for the time being. "Ah don't know what it means for us, but.... This could be bad. Look, we've gotta go down there and make damn sure that guy really did shuffle off his mortal coil." The rabble broke out into a loud, confused discussion. Raising his voice above the rest, Andy blurted, "Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? I tell ya, I saw Tex—" Soldier cut him off by clamping a big hand over his mouth, adding a touch of the evil eye for good measure. "Engie, you're the smartest man here. I trust you more than... hell, everyone else in the world. So if there's a chance I'll have to tangle with this guy again, you have to tell me: how the hell am I supposed to kill him? And when did you grow a-" "Ah don't know," Engineer interrupted Soldier's second question without thinking. It was clear that he had already relapsed into his chronic medical condition. It was a mental state that his teammates called 'inventor's tunnel vision'. As he wracked his brain for ideas, his ability to hear, see, or smell the world around him always diminished. Dangerously so, sometimes. "If we're lucky, he's dead. I wouldn't put money on it, though. Still, it seems y'all had a big enough gun ta pierce his skin. So if he's still alive, he'll be covered in vulnerable spots. Hell, he coulda bled out by now! ...Have ta wonder if the Australium woulda' affected the inside of his body." "Ah'll take care of that Tex fellow. If he lives, Ah'd like him tae answer somethin' for me." Demoman got to his feet and took a deep breath. He hadn't forgotten his last chat with the Colonel, what the man told him about the murdered clansman. He was finally starting to understand the ominous feeling that dogged him, the sense that something was compelling him towards something. "Whatever shenanigans he pulled on the lot of you, Ah dinnae think he'll be much danger if he's in pieces. We can stuff him in a box an' throw it in the bleedin' ocean! Who's comin' with me?" "I'll go," growled Soldier, lurching into an upright position. "It's my duty to dispense righteous ass-beatings on anyone who messes with my team!" Beside him, Engineer began to rise from the ground, but he stopped the shorter man. They hovered for a moment, each one staring into the other's face and blurting the first words of an argument. Slowly, Engineer backed down, his instincts pulling ihm into a passive state. Soldier swallowed the knot in his throat, feeling the same painful tug. "Engie, I just can't-" Engineer looked strangely calm for a change, and gently patted Soldier's arm. "Nah, Ah getchya. You go on ahead with Demoman, Sarge. Ah'll wait 'til Ah'm healed up." Of all people, Andy joined the volunteers. "I'll go to, j-just in case. In case Tex is alive. Down there. Got a few words for that motherfucker, too." The Administrator was back to talking on her handheld set, and barely seemed to acknowledge their plans. Although she was tending the unconscious guard, Miss Pauling had been listening. She took a second to look up from her patient, and smiled faintly. "Be careful, guys." Puffing his chest up, Soldier said, "We're soldiers, Miss Pauling! Trained killers! You don't have to worry one hair on your head, we can handle anyth—" A worried frown creased her feminine features. "I mean it. I'm not a mechanic, but I don't think that improvised dispenser is going to last much longer." There was a similar expression on Engineer's face, but he spared them any further nagging. While the others readied their weapons, Demoman shot their concerned companions a grim smile. "We'll watch our feet, Miss. And ye know Ah would nae do anything ye would nae do, Engie. You just worry 'bout gettin' your strength back." With a quick salute, Demoman turned to leave with the other two men. The intangible presence was at his side once more, urging him to hurry.
Oh thank god this was updated. I was really worried this fic had been forgotten. And it's so good. Even though there's respawn, it really hurts to read about these guys getting put through the wringer. And I'm sure the experience of dying is no picnic either. I'll just pitch a tent (in my pants) and camp here for the next update.
So glad to see this story updated! And oh boy, I really thought that would be the last of Tex but now I am all tense again waiting for him to reappear. I will be camping here with the other commenter eagerly awaiting another update!
I'm going to have to add "testicular fortitude" to my vocabulary now. Very nice pacing here - you kept everything tense and moving even while providing a moment to take a breath. Good balancing on that front. Demoman's fortitude to see Tex in pieces and put together the puzzle is a nice reminder there's more at stake than just some turncoats, as well, and I too want some answers. I'll just have to get ready and start waiting. (Captcha includes "Jane" - good job, captcha.)
Aw, I'm glad you guys wanna see what comes next- it's incentive for me to push through to the end of this thing. In the meantime, it's that time again- late night impulsive update time! I thought I might put this vignette after the big one I'm still working on, but I guess it goes as well here, just to punctuate things by catching up on how some of the others are getting back. That and I'm still wrestling with the more difficult scene on the island. Apologies to my beta reader for posting some of this unchecked; if there's something horribly wrong with it, I'll just axe this post and replace it with a fixed up version. ____________________________________________ His teammates were still out there. Sniper leaned against the wall, lips clamped around a freshly lit cigarette—one he'd borrowed from someone's locker in 2Fort's respawn room. The smoke was acrid on the way down, but pleasantly warm once it hit his newly-reconstituted lungs. The nicotine seeping into Sniper's bloodstream was a welcome guest, but barely enough to mend his frayed nerves. A shiver swept through him, tugging sinew along the way and making his joints twitch. He scowled, then took another irritated drag. Wasn’t he fine? Hadn’t respawn revived him in one piece? Even if Teufort’s computers stitched him together perfectly, it hadn’t wiped the fatigue from his mind. Nausea bubbled up through his body, then settled uneasily. His eyes burned from dehydration and weariness. He couldn’t rest here. Not while his teammates were a couple thousand miles away. After sucking his stolen cigarette down to the filter, he reached for the phone—the RED base's connection to the "civilian" world. He flopped open a thick phonebook, grimacing as he tried to focus, to ignore the scenes that kept lighting up his mind like a flashbulb. A startlingly clear view of his torso as it dissolved into red rain. Tex's pitted, leprous nose and foul breath. Crawling through the shadows of the basement's abattoir, choking on urgency and the stench of death as he listened to Scout's hysterical shrieking. There would be time for thinking about that later. After securing a taxi ride to Teufort, a car from the rental joint there, and a flight from Sky Harbour to Nassau, Sniper was ready to hit the road. It took him less than five minutes to throw together bare necessities and burst out the front door of Teufort’s base. He jogged down to the gated entrance of RED base's main road, then waited by a lonely streetlight for his cab. Sniper could see the taxi coming a long way off. When it pulled over, he realized there was another passenger in the front. This scenario sent a twinge of apprehension through his guts, but he hailed the driver and climbed into the back seat. "Take me ta the Rent-a-Car in town," Sniper drawled. As he caught the scent of smoke from the front of the cab, he wished badly for another cigarette. The driver chuckled. "You too, buddy? I guess that's both of ya, then." Inconspicuously as he could manage, Sniper peered through the darkness at the rear-view mirror. The other passenger's face was shadowed, but as they passed a couple lampposts, Sniper caught a glimpse of a pinstriped sleeve. A blue, pinstriped sleeve, ending in a black leather glove. Even though he was already expecting this, he still felt his heart skip a beat. (My God, that's why he wasn't helping me. He must have died before I did. Wonder if I should say something... No. Neither of us is expecting any favours. We're both professionals, doing our jobs.) Sniper let himself sag against the backrest and tried to stifle a yawn. He failed, pledging to himself to pull in at the first 24-hour truck stop he could find and grab something quick. (Coffee and biscuits ought to keep me going. Amphetamines would be better. Maybe caffeine pills...) The ride to town wasn't long, but it gave Sniper more free time than he had wanted. He found himself thinking of his team, back on the island. (They're probably sweeping up the mess right now... Christ, I hope Engineer's not too upset. Or Scout, for that matter. Poor kid's been shaken up since we were taken prisoner.) Remembering their conversation in the kitchen, Sniper suddenly found his eyes were stinging. He lifted his glasses for a moment and rubbed his eyelids, then took a deep, slow breath. (I've got to get back there as soon as possible.) The second they pulled up to the rental joint, the passenger in front handed over a wad of bills, then hurried away without a word. Sniper was feeling less sharp, and it took him a moment to get his fare together. At that point, the gloved man was long gone. Walking across the lot, Sniper found the owner stuffing another generous tip into his pockets, and doing his best to look awake. "You with that other guy? I'm surprised you two didn't just rent one car and go together." Sniper grimaced a bit, then pretended it was a bright light in his eyes. 'That other guy' had just started his car, and soon drove off into the night. "Nah, I don't know him. Reckon it's just a coincidence. Here's..." He paused and counted out the bills, double-checking just to be sure. "Six-hundred in all. Two-fifty for the car, the rest for you bein' up at this hour and renting it t'me." The owner accepted payment, and handed Sniper a set of keys, yawning explosively. "There you go, Limey. It's the red one, just under that streetlamp. Be careful out there! I always say, driving at night's more dangerous." On any other day, Sniper would have considered violence as a proper reaction to the guy's mistake on his heritage, but right now he was just itching to get on the road. "Right, I'll keep me eyes open. At least the only other bloke on the road at this hour will be the mystery man..." _____________________________ Hours later, the sun was rising up from the Atlantic ocean, bringing another beautiful day to the tiny islands that studded the Caribbean, glinting in first light. Even trapped in a aisle seat, Sniper could see the eastern horizon lit up in pink fire. Other passengers who had appeared like corpses in the gloom, now came to life in the sunlight's eerie glow. He groaned and craned his neck, leaning over another passenger and glancing out the window as long as he dared. The man in the window seat snuffled and moved a bit, but didn't awaken. "...red sky at morning," Sniper muttered, and slouched back in his seat. As he budied himself lighting up a cigarette, the phrase nagged at him. Red sky... was that good or bad? He couldn't remember. To the left of Sniper, the sleeping man tugged his obnoxiously floral shirt closed, and murmured, "Sailors take warning." "Wot?" The marksman straightened up a bit, looking at his seat-mate. Sniper hadn't seen the man until boarding at Miami. He couldn't place the man's nationality, but the shorts and loud shirt were the marks of a tourist. American would seem the obvious answer, but the passenger's pallor was unusual, even for winter. (Well, he sounds American. He's probably just a suit, works in an office all day. That'd explain the lack of tanning.) Running a hand through his black comb-over, the tourist looked up at Sniper. His expression was fatigued, another victim of jet lag no doubt, but he gave a bit of a grin. "Ain't you ever heard that before, pal? It goes 'Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.' Y'know, 'cause it means the weather's gonna be good or bad. I dunno if you can predict the weather, but I tell ya- any time there's a gorgeous sunrise on Cape Cod, we get a hell of a thunder storm." Sniper's mouth hung open a bit as he tried to catch up with the tourist's words. Rescuing his cigarette before it could fall, he finally found his voice. "Oh, r- right. Now I get what you're sayin'. ...you'll hafta pardon my sluggishness, mate; it's been 'bout thirty-six hours since I got any real sleep." "Yeah, I getchya. This travellin' really wears a guy out." The tourist leaned back in his seat and yawned loudly, making only a lazy attempt to cover his mouth. "Say, y'think you could spare a cigarette for a man in need? I musta' run out during that last layover, and I- I ain't ready to go cold turkey, not when I'm on the way to the sunny south." "Well... bah, why not?" Normally Sniper would have refused, but he found himself strangely agreeable to giving this total stranger a free smoke. The man's New England drawl was friendly and relaxed, despite the dark bags under his eyes. Maybe he was taking the long haul better than Sniper. (Maybe he hasn't been fighting in a bloody jungle for the past two days,) Sniper thought ruefully. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a hiss of air between his teeth, struggling to prop up his waning consciousness. As he finished his own cigarette, the plane lurched, then assumed a rougher version of its previous vibrations. Beside him, the tourist grimaced with the effort of staying in his chair. A stewardess spoke over the tannoy system, advising the passengers to strap in and prepare for some turbulence. "Well, ain't that just typical... you know they won't hand out breakfast until we're out of this rough patch. And to think, I was lookin' forwards to stale toast and eggs that musta' come from a rubber chicken." "Don't think I'd dare try to eat anything with this turbulence," Sniper grunted, his mouth tensed in a thin, straight line. "I knew I should've brought along mother's little helpers, or... or something to just put me down for the whole flight. These airplanes are rubbish for getting any real sleep." "What, you get airsick or somethin'?" The tourist laughed uneasily, then started rifling through his pockets. Sniper wasn't really paying close attention, but a moment later the man pushed something into his hand. "Huh? What's this?" he asked, accepting the offering with a confused expression. The tourist gave a faint grin. "Dramamine. ...think of it as payback for the cigarette. I hate ta owe anyone favours for long, anyhow." "Too right. ...thanks, mate," Sniper said quietly, and dry-swallowed the pills. Something about that brief flash of other man's teeth was familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Where had he seen that smile before? (I must be thinking of a movie star, or something. Just a coincidence.) A plume of cigarette smoke curled up from the depths of his lungs, and he slumped as far back as he could manage in an airplane seat. Despite the rocky movement of the aircraft, Sniper slowly began feeling more relaxed. He was a lone wolf by nature, whose conversations with strangers usually consisted of taciturn grunts. So Sniper was surprised to realize that he was glad for the some company. Peering out the corner of his eye, Sniper took a surreptitious look at the other passenger. In his muddled state, he couldn't make sense of nagging sense of familiarity he got from the man. (It must be his accent. This bloke sounds like he's from Boston, and it's got me thinking of Scout.) He suddenly realized the tourist was looking back at him, and averted his eyes to the ash receptacle on the seat back ahead. "There somethin' weird on my face, pal?" The other man regarded him uncertainly, holding his precious cigarette firmly between two fingers, as though he were worried the plane's next jolt might take it from him. Sniper hesitated, then decided that the truth was inoffensive enough that he didn't have to lie. "I keep thinkin' I've seen you before somewhere, but I can't put my finger on it... You know what it's like, it's just this feelin' of dayjuh-voo." He shrugged, giving a sheepish grin for good measure. At first the other man appeared amused, but when Sniper mangled the foreign phrase, his face twitched. He managed to straighten his expression out after a second and said, "You pronounce that 'déja-vu'. It's, uh... French, y'know?" A thought occurred to Sniper, and he felt a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. (No, I won't bother to say it. Even if I'm right, I'd never get a straight answer out of him.) Instead of pursuing the matter further, he just nodded and said, "Oh, that's how it's pronounced? I'll have to take your word on it, mate- I barely know any French, aside from bad words." This elicited a snorting chuckle from the tourist. "Everyone starts out with obscenities when they're learnin' a new language. I think that's one of these, uh, universal constants. Y'know, like gravity." Another bout of turbulence shook the passengers roughly, interrupting any further conversation. By the time it settled, the thin man in the window seat had turned his attention to the sky outside. The silence between them didn't particularly bother Sniper. After he ground his cigarette out in a nearby ash receptacle, he settled back in his chair, finally feeling as though he might be able to doze off for the rest of the flight.
Flashlights illuminated the stairwell. From what Demoman had seen so far, he didn't like the situation. Spatters of Tex's gore ran down the walls, thick and black as Texas sweet light. Small fragments of him adhered to every surface, similarly dark, an oily sheen coating every dribble and chunk. When he dared to study a drop close-up, he could see tiny, metallic fleck—Australium, perhaps—swirling over the surface of the blood, spreading out like mycelium. "This is givin' me the fuckin' creeps," Andy mumbled. He directed his own light at the foot of the stairs, where a dark smear trailed into the room beyond. Soldier came alongside Andy and boomed, "There is no place for COWARDICE in WAR! If the zombie is still alive, we'll kill it again and again, as many times as we have to! HOOAH!" He cracked his knuckles as if to emphasize the point, but for the other two, this only called attention to the fact that he was unarmed. True, Soldier was perfectly capable of killing men bare-handed, but there was little doubt in any sane person's mind that Tex was no longer a regular human. Doing his part as the most stable member of the group—stable being a relative term—Demoman flashed Andy a meaningful look. "Steady, mate. Ye'd best take up your gun instead o' that torch, it'll be of more use if there's anything still up and kickin' in there." Giving an anxious groan, Andy took his advice. They arrived at the landing, hesitating to step into the room beyond. It was not as well lit as before the explosion, and the charred debris left plenty of shadows for someone to hide in. One gurgling cough startled everyone. Andy yelped and dove for cover around the safe edge of the archway while the older men preserved their dignity. Some of the shadows moved. Demoman was still trying to identify what he was seeing, when Soldier exclaimed, "Jumping Jesus Christ on a pogo stick! How the hell—" What had initially appeared to be a garbage heap, slowly propped itself up on the broken stub of an arm. Soldier's flashlight revealed a blackened, dismembered torso, displaying an unusual level of activity for human remains. The sputtering sound was heard again, emitted by the uneven stump of a neck. After a few moments of struggling, the whole thing toppled over forwards. Something large flopped down over the exposed trachea, sealing the hole. Still attached by a strip of tendons, Tex's head unsteadily resumed its usual place. Tex spoke in a bubbly whisper. "Put yer weapons down. Y'can't... y'cant kill me." "LIKE HELL I CAN'T!" Soldier barked, clutching his light like a weapon. "I'll pound you into a thin paste! I am thoroughly capable of killing any man, animal or plant that this world throws in my path! ...except portulaca. That stuff's a secret CIA weapon they developed to ruin my rooftop garden. But you are NOT PORTULACA, cowpoke! You are a disgusting half of a man, AND I WILL KILL YOU!" Demoman rolled his eye. "Cannae you hold your horses for just a minute, Soldier? Ah came down here so Ah could chat with the man. We'll finish him after Ah've got my answers." Seeing no reason to comply with Tex's order, Demoman kept his grenade launcher at the ready and took a step into the room, glowering at the grisly thing. "Before Ah blow ye tae kingdom come, Ah've got a question for ye." "Heh... y'all must be hard of hearin', or ... or somethin'. I ain't one ta boast, but consider the fact that... I'm still alive, even with my body in pieces?" After wetly sucking in a lungful of air, Tex chuckled. "Y'all can ask whatever... idiotic questions you have. Just don't... count on me answerin' you." While it didn't look like he could do anything aside from taunt, the fact that Tex was still alive confounded Demoman. He noticed that Tex's right arm ended in a mangled stump well above the elbow. (I don't see a stun-gun built into his arm, like the others mentioned. It must've been shot off.) Demoman watched Tex moving, scrabbling at the ground with one-and-a-half arms, as if there were something he was trying to find. A sense of revulsion trickled down Demoman's spine. He could see dark bits on the floor, all around the mass of burnt flesh. They seemed to be squirming, a thousand oily black maggots come to feast on the man's destroyed body. Were they really creeping towards Tex? Were these fragments of the man, converging on his mutilated body? He tried not to think about it. The possibility was too hideous. The revolting sight had transfixed Demoman, and the questions he'd been meaning to ask were forgotten for the moment. Andy wasn't so quiet. Seeing that the other men hadn't been attacked, he emerged from hiding and stepped into the doorway, yelling, "I got a question for you, cock-knocker! Why'd you do it?! You said we were all in this fuckin' thing together, you said..." Andy grimaced, fighting to keep his Shortstop aimed at Tex. His voice was cracking a little as he spoke, and he noisily cleared his throat before continuing. "You said we'd be set for life if we stuck with you. Why'd you lie, you fuckin' asshole? What'd we ever do to you?" Soldier stared at Andy, his mouth hanging open a little. Demoman was less startled, but the kid's tirade had thrown off his concentration, and he took a second to remember what he'd been thinking about beforehand. Even Tex seemed taken by surprise. At least, he considered his answer for a while before speaking. "It's a tough world, Andy. Ah did tell you we were... rgh, in this together. I was relyin' on... the bunch of you, ta kill off those intruders... Y'all pretty much failed me, so I... really had no choice, but ta finalize Plan B." Tex's face was barely recognizable as human, but Demoman studied its mangled surface and thought he could discern an unpleasant smirk there. None of them knew the extent to which Tex was lying, of course. They could only guess. After pausing to hock up an inky blob of phlegm, Tex added, "Plan B bein' ta contact the company and re-negotiate my contract. Sure, it meant throwin' y'all to the wolves, but I had ta think of my own survival first. Number One, ya dig?" Red-faced with fury, Andy opened his mouth to scream obscenities at his former teammate, but all that came out was a choked sound of anger. Everything about Tex's comment bothered Demoman. Although he didn't share Andy's indignant rage, he had a nagging sense that their enemy was spouting bullshit. True, Tex had already dug his own grave, but his chances of a merciful death were dwindling further with each contemptuous claim that left his mouth. Out the corner of his eye, Demoman could see Soldier scanning their surroundings for a good weapon. (I doubt if the bastard will give me a straight answer, either, but I may as well take a shot at clearing my dead countryman's name,) he thought, frowning. It occurred to him that he was probably the only man on the island who cared about the matter, but he was Tavish DeGroot, dammit! It fell on him to set the record straight, lest he send false words about the highlander's death back to An Teallach. Staring down at Tex, he cleared his throat and tersely said, "Hey! How's about ye tell me what became of the Demoman ye worked with?" Tex must have been expecting accusations or threats, because this question threw him for a loop. After staring in silent confusion, he gave a disinterested grunt. "How the hell should Ah know? That useless, booze-swilling yahoo could've blown himself ta bits for all I care." For all intents and purposes, Soldier seemed to be off in his own world, rifling through the smoking debris for something he could use against Tex. At mention of the dead Demoman, though, he straightened up and bellowed, "That's a damn lie! The Colonel said YOU ratted him out as a betrayer. Got him killed off by his own C.O., to boot!" "Aye... why'd y'tell us a different story, you slimy bastard?" Demoman narrowed his eye, lightly fingering the grenade launcher's trigger. "Ah'm wonderin' if the poor sod even did anything wrong in the first place? Ah can't help but notice that among the last two members of your team, one of ye sold his mates out tae the Mann Company. Ah'm no Sherlock Holmes, but it seems like a wee bit too much of a coincidence for my tastes." Behind Demoman, Andy's mouth was flapping open and shut. Soldier growled pensively, scratching the back of his head, not quite getting it. On the other hand, Tex understood Demoman's words immediately. He pawed at the floor with his stumps and pushed himself back a bit, glaring up at his enemies. When he spoke, his voice had lost the bubbly, gasping quality from before, as though some of the holes in his body had been sealed up. "Oh yeah?! Wh-what's it matter now if Ah got that chump killed? He wouldn't be the first one, and he won't be the last." "You've got a lotta nerve for a guy whose balls are scattered across the floor, walls and ceiling, pal." Soldier was looming over Tex while he gloated. Having retrieved a sturdy table leg from the wreckage, the RED was preparing to mete out justice on his foe in the form of blunt force trauma. Thumping the club's business end against the palm of his hand, he huffed impatiently. "Now, if your chit-chat with the maniac is finished, I say we waste him.†Tex's tone became ugly. Raising his head, which had been near-severed only minutes before, he shouted, "Are you all REALLY that stupid?! Ah told you, you can't kill m-" Soldier didn't let him finish. The table leg met Tex's mouth with a wet squelch and sent a fresh gout of tarry blood across the group. While Demoman groaned and restrained the urge to just bomb the combatants, Andy leveled his Shortstop and peppered the enemy's flank. The spray of pellets did little more than anger him. When Soldier took another swing, Tex's one good arm whipped up and caught the table leg, then began wrestling it from Soldier's grasp. With a mouthful of smashed teeth, Tex could only scream furiously. As tough as his outsides were, it seemed like he still had at least one vulnerable spot—his mouth. Andy moaned, "Aw man, what the fuck! How'm I supposed to make this fucker bleed?! " Although he was still wrestling with the entrapped bludgeoning tool, Soldier was quick to offer orders. "Just keep hitting him, Private! If we can't shoot him full of holes, then we'll pound him flat as a pancake and slide him under SATAN'S FRONT DOOR!" There was a muffled 'crack!' as Tex relieved Soldier of his weapon. It wasn't the wood that broke. It was Soldier's forearm, his bones splintered by the enemy's brutal strength. He gave a scream that was part rage and part agony, clutching at his sleeve as dark blood blossomed from under the dirty fabric. Before Tex had a chance to cave his skull in, Demoman grabbed the older American and hauled him to safety. "We've got tae fall back!" Demoman hissed, keeping a firm grip on Soldier with his free hand. When Soldier nodded grudgingly and backed off to the doorway, the other RED turned his attention to Andy. The kid was still wasting ammunition on Tex, who was rapidly turning out to be The Thing That Would Not Die. In the midst of being dragged away from the thrashing monstrosity on the floor, Andy took one last wild shot. The butt of his gun slammed back into Demoman's ribcage, just an inch or two away from one of the home-brewed manchineel bombs strapped to the man's chest. Demoman drew in a pained hiss. Although Andy was oblivious to the damage he nearly caused, Soldier gave the bandoleer of glass bottles a dubious glance. "Be careful with those goddamn things! Didn't Engie say that crap is poisonous?!" At mention of poison, Andy practically dove for the exit. Demoman wasn't in such a panic, and as he followed Soldier's gaze, he realized there was one last trick up his sleeve, something they hadn't yet tried on Tex. "Aye, he certainly did! Take my grenade launcher and get out of here! I'm gonna' give these Molotov cocktails a try!" Soldier stared at his teammate. Under any other circumstances—were he not thoroughly exhausted and, at present, out of ideas for how to deal with this seemingly indestructible foe—he would have refused or started firing on Tex with the grenade launcher. But heavy arms fire and explosives were equally ineffective when used against an enemy who could ooze back together and reassemble himself in revolting, scabbed clumps. Even Soldier could see that the GAU-4 was turning out to be a temporary measure. "Goddammit! Fine, but if that slimy mistake of modern science is not dead in the next two minutes, I'm going to bomb this lab back to the stone age!" The horrible screaming sounds from Tex were grating at Demoman, deteriorating what little patience he still had. It was clear that the traitor knew they were up to something, and as Demoman took a horrified glance back into the room, he began dragging himself towards the archway, closing the distance between himself and the fleeing mercenaries. "Alright, alright! Jes' get the hell out of here!" Demoman barked at his compatriots, and the two Americans finally retreated back up the stairs. While they made their escape, he turned his attention back to Tex, and pulled one jar out of his bandolier. In the wavering light, his eye appeared as a blazing coal against the dark backdrop of his skin. The low visibility wasn't a problem. He knew exactly where his lighter was, and years of practice prepared him for igniting a fuse under any conditions. With an ugly sneer that seemed to form of its own accord, Demoman glared at Tex and said, "Looks like it's you and me now, mate. Ah woulda' killed you anyhow, but Ah think this one can be safely called revenge." If Tex were capable of speaking right now, Tavish might have given him a second to try making a snappy comeback. Maybe. But probably not. Holding a flame against the storm matches that made up the fuse of his bomb, he lit it, then hurled it onto the floor before Tex. The enemy took a defensive swing at the missile with his club, but only managed to shatter the glass. Its noxious contents instantly touched the fuse, and a shower of flaming, poisonous goop cascaded all over the deformed body of Tex. "Fuhhr?! Yrhh fnng yrhh... cuhn kuhll mrrh hwwf fuhhr?!" Tex's wounds bubbled and sizzled as the mixture burned on his body's surface, but he didn't seem bothered by the heat. If anything, he was amused. He continued taunting Demoman through his mouthful of smashed teeth, his laughter punctuated by noisome breathing. The black smoke billowed up from a dozen small fires, and at first he seemed not to be bothered. Demoman reached for a second bomb, and swallowed painfully as his heart leapt up into his throat. "There's more where that came from!" he shouted, trying to hide the unease in his voice. Surrounded by a hot miasma of fumes, Tex continued his creeping advance on the RED mercenary. From somewhere within the smoke and tongues of flame, the unnatural angles of his face emerged, streaked with Australium filaments. Blood was still running down his neck, but the broken orifice of his mouth was unmistakably drawn up into a ghastly grin. Wheezing and dribbling blood, he growled, "Uh admuhhrr yrr dudrrmnushn, brrd yrr grrd nuhr..." Covering his mouth with his sleeve, Demoman backed away. Even the faintest whiff of the smoke was murder on his eye and nose. He didn't want any of that getting into his lungs. Just as Tavish began worrying about how he'd light a second bomb without taking a faceful of smoke, Tex made a new sound. A startled, agonized sound. The smoking figure stopped in his course and hunched over, clutching at his chest with the stump of his right arm. His breathing was choked now, becoming more desperate as the moments went by. The Australium foil and cobwebbing that protected Tex's exterior and strengthened his body did nothing to defend his inner body tissues against the manchineel's poison. Its cruel touch raised blisters on swelling mucus membranes and corroded the blood-rich, delicate forest of tiny balloons that formed the man's alveoli. In mere moments, Tex's throat was blocked up solid. Clearing his airways would do nothing to help him. His lungs had dissolved into a wretched soup. Even as far gone as he was, Tex no doubt knew that without air, his brain would soon shut down, long before his muscles used up their reserve power. Chasing down Demoman was no longer a casual goal for him, but a desperate priority, the last act he'd ever be able to do. Wracked with hideous pain, Tex dug his fingertips into the floor and took a final charge at Demoman. The madman's last burst of strength lasted until he was through the once-sealed door, where he clawed around frantically in search of his enemy. It didn't help that even a small trace of smoke had rendered Demoman more than half-blind. Squinting through his burning, teary eye, he could hear Tex's approach. "Oh no, lad. This bloody well ends, here." Stumbling back up the first few stairs, Demoman took a deep breath, then shuffled off his bandolier and lit the remaining bottles. In the dim light from the laboratory, he could barely make out the flailing thing on the landing below him. "Bombs away, ye bastard!" Demoman shouted, then hurled the cluster of bottles down and turned to run like hell. The noise that followed him up the stairs was almost as horrible as the death-cloud that came after it. Every bit of Tex's flesh that had been cast about the stairwell was sizzling, puffing up with blisters and exploding. Tex himself was incapable of vocalizing, but his desperate thrashing said enough. It might have been tempting to stay and enjoy the show, but Demoman knew how hot air and fumes behaved. He was in danger as well, as long as he remained in the arched passageway. As he approached the top, Demoman was becoming lightheaded from holding his breath. Each step was a slow-motion struggle, and black spots began crawling over his blurred field of vision. The presence that had dogged him since his trek in the jungle was bearing down on him; it was a pair of hands, tightening around his forehead. As the throbbing pressure in his head intensified, Tavish found himself inexplicably optimistic. (Is this what it feels like when you have a stroke?) he mused, teetering at the top of the stairs. Freedom was right before him, if he could only find the strength to reach out and take it. Through his dimming view of the world, the conservatory appeared to be at the other end of a telescope. All of a sudden, the band of tightness snapped. A wave of euphoria crashed over him like the best drink he'd ever had, and for a brief moment, the pain and weariness left his body. It was then that he abandoned his doubts of every impulse, every nagging gut feeling he'd had since the day his team left on this mission. More than just easing his doubts, this final push gave Demoman the energy he so desperately needed to escape the danger he was in. The archway seemed to come rushing up towards him, and with a triumphant shout, he lunged for the safety of the conservatory.
Oh no no no nuhhhhh I am going to have so many nightmares of Tex after this.
Oh man, that was amazing. Tex, though... holy hell. I'm scared.
"You've got a lotta nerve for a guy whose balls are scattered across the floor, walls and ceiling, pal." I really wish I had context to use this in now
>>15 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ja06DJrFe5E
Demoman did not run to safer ground, so much as fly there. Soldier was waiting nearby, stoic but white-faced with pain from his broken arm. He stared as his teammate emerged from the alcove as if from a cannon, and came crashing down among the wreckage. Dark smoke followed, rising up through the conservatory's shattered ceiling and dispersing on the wind. Soldier didn't pay it much heed. He was more concerned with Demoman. Grimacing as he set down the grenade launcher, Soldier then took a tentative grasp on his bloodstained sleeve, and made his way over to the man on the floor. Once he was close enough to see what sort of reaction he might get, Soldier took a deep breath and yelled, "Status report, private!" Lying amidst broken glass and twisted wreckage, Demoman rolled onto his side and groaned in pain, clutching his face with freshly cut hands. "...aggh, it hurts. Dear God, Ah've been blinded..! Mother'll be proud of me..." This was far from the information Soldier was hoping to hear. He decided to be more specific, and bawled, "Have you, or have you not, terminated the life of our enemy?" Demoman withdrew his hands and looked at Soldier. Or tried to, at any rate. His remaining eye was squinting, badly bloodshot and shedding a copious stream of tears. "Ah bloody well hope so! Just a whiff o' that blasted smoke was enough tae blind me good eye. He was breathin' the stuff in. If you dinnae believe me and want tae go check him, ye'd best wait 'til it clears,†He took a shaky breath, then smiled. “As for me, Ah won't be goin' back down there. The bastard's dead, Ah've no doubt of that." His teammate’s scarlet eyeball shot a wave of concern through Soldier’s mind. "Shit, private…that looks like it stings. I have no choice but to escort you to the medical station. Let's get you on your feet!" Still grimacing in pain, Demoman rose unsteadily to his feet. Although he would rather have been thoroughly drunk at the moment, it was better that he were sober. There was enough working against him already, and even Soldier's assistance was tenuous. "Where's my grenade launcher? Are you still carryin' it, with that bad arm?" "Negative," Soldier said, and frowned. "Hmm, this presents a logistical problem... I'll need my good arm to handle the weapon. Demoman, you just grab onto my shoulder and follow me. I hate to admit it, but I need some patching up as well." "Alright.†Demoman fell in step behind Soldier with one hand on the American's back for direction, trying to rub away some of the moisture from his watering eye. “What a bloody mess. Lead on, mate... Ye think that healin' machine is still working?†Unsteady in his weariness, Soldier headed for the exit with his teammate in tow, and grunted, "It had damn well better be. Bah, only one way to find out..."
Oh, god, I thought you'd given this up. Thank everything that's amazing and wonderful. With that out of the way, I, of course, loved this chapater. Even after haven't read this in a while, I still remembered everything and all the feels I got from this. And I felt a rush of relief and started fist pumping when evilgineer finally (and hopefully) died. Keep it up and I hope to see another update sometime in the future.
I'm glad this fic isn't dead, I was looking forwards to the next chapter.
Awesome to see an update to this wonderful fic! Im looking forward to seeing how it ends.
Aww, you guys. It's reassuring to know that there are people who wanna' see how this ends. Kablooey! Have another update. ____________________________ Emerging from the ruined conservatory, Demoman squinted and tried to take in the world around him. It was no good. Between the darkness and the manchineel's poison, his eye was out of commission. Other senses came to him that offered some clues, though—the beating of inbound helicopters, the night air whipping around him, cooling the sweat and grime that permeated every inch of his uniform. The others must have seen him and Soldier, because conversation in the yard went dead as they approached. A few tentative questions started from Demoman's teammates, but over their voices came one that demanded attention—the glacial intonations of the Administrator. "Have you eliminated your target, gentlemen? Give me a status report, if you will." "He's no' comin' back after what Ah did tae him, mark my words." Despite the pain he was in, Demoman found himself grinning. "The deed's done. Ye might wait until the smoke clears before sendin' anyone else in tae tinker with your prize, though. And give 'em protective gear, while you're at it. Once everything's settled, there'll be God only knows what sorta foul dust spread about that room." "Did'jya blow him to bits?" Engineer's voice sounded stronger than before, like he'd definitely gotten his strength back. There were hands on Demoman now, ushering him over to the buckshee dispenser. More questions came his way, but they were drowned out by the sound of helicopters landing somewhere not far from the mercenaries. When he could hear himself speak again, Demoman said, "Remember the death apples, mate? Ah doused him in that wicked jelly ye saw me cookin' up, back in the mess hall. Whatever poison was in those things, it did a fine job on the bastard... Hah, and my good eye, tae boot." An impatient click was the only indication that the Administrator had heard his story. "Good. ...now, Engineer. Before I leave to oversee the next phase of this operation, I will extend a rare opportunity to you. You see, everything in the laboratory that hasn't been burned or exploded will have to be salvaged with the utmost care. A team of specialists has just arrived, but your expertise would be very valuable to me as well.†She paused to make sure the stocky man was listening to her every word. “I would make it well worth your time to remain on the island and assist in the recovery." Soldier couldn't hold back from giving an incredulous sound. Through his one bleary eye, Demoman could see the shorter American give his countryman a light punch to the shoulder, a blurry grin on his face. "Ah appreciate the offer, ma'am, but I've had just about enough of this place for the time being. Given the choice, I'd like ta head back now with the rest of my team." The faintest hint of surprise found its way into her voice. "...Hmmph. Very well. I'm certain your counterpart on the BLU team will be more than willing to take on this task for me." From somewhere among the group, Scout muttered something derogatory about the BLUs. Engineer just chuckled faintly. "He's welcome to it, ma'am. Now if that Huey's free for our use, we can clear outta your way and head back ta mission control." The Administrator nodded stiffly, then turned her attention to other things. Demoman was peripherally aware of conversation between her and Miss Pauling, no doubt preparing for the operation ahead. Now that a fresh supply of henchmen had arrived, she was probably itching to have them excavate that vault for her. For the RED team, however, this mission was over. None of them could have been happier about that. Feeling somewhat revitalized from the healing machine, Demoman found he could suddenly see again. Around him, the Americans were doing everything short of jumping for joy. Even the black-clad bodyguard was sitting up now, somehow managing a weary smile. Nobody could muster the team as well as Soldier. Pulling himself up off the ground and shouldering his tattered pack, he looked over the assembled RED group. "Alright, men! Our work here is done, and we've got a ride back to mission control. MOVE OUT!" As Demoman, Engineer and the two scouts rose to their feet, the Scotsman paused to glance back at the two women. The Administrator was talking over a handheld radio and straightening her singed clothes, while Miss Pauling seemed momentarily lost in the mounting recovery effort. He watched as she sat down beside the Administrator's remaining bodyguard and yawned, clearly feeling the long night's action catching up with her. Demoman's teammates were already starting towards the RED Huey, but he lingered a moment longer, and when Miss Pauling's gaze met his, they both smiled wearily. "Catch some shut-eye when ye get the chance, Miss Pauling. Livin' on naught but coffee an' paperwork? That'll turn a pretty young thing like you intae your boss, and Ah don't think there's anyone who wants two of her runnin' around." Miss Pauling chuckled, looking off at nothing in particular. Then she lifted her gaze back to the RED group, still smiling. "I don't see any sleep in my schedule for today, but I'll do what I can. ...Go on. I can't imagine you want to miss your ride out. This isn't an order from higher up, but... can you tell the rest of those boys that I want you to just enjoy yourselves for a few days? You've all earned some R&R." "Aye, Ah guarantee that in a couple hours, there'll not be one man among us who's sober. ...dinnae forget tae let your hair down an' relax a little, too. It'd be a shame, you comin' down to the tropics and workin' the whole time." Demoman gave a crooked salute, then turned and hurried to catch up with his teammates. Soldier was already in the co-pilot's seat, arguing with their driver, but the other REDs had resigned themselves to napping among the back seats. As he climbed in and shut the door behind him, Demoman felt deeply appreciative to have a resting place that was dry and free of insects or thorns. The Huey lurched skywards, and as he did his best to ignore the noise up front, Demoman looked out at the world shrinking below the aircraft. He found himself absentmindedly toying with something in his pocket, and realized it was the slain Demoman's insignia. (It's not much, but at least they'll have something of you to bury, eh lad?) All around him, the other mercenaries were passed out or trying to be, but Demoman could only guess what might be going through their heads. (Suppose they're just mulling, like me. Or just feeling glad that bloody nightmare is finally over. Now that I think about it, I've got no reason to keep my wits about me any longer, do I? I can be as drunk as I like!) A moment later, crushing disappointment shuddered through Demoman's body, and his soul cried out in despair. He was out of rum.
Oh! The feels for the Demoman and his booze!
Words cannot express how happy I am that this fic was not abandoned!
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PLEASE PLEASE if there is a god PLEASE I need to know the last bits, even though you probably won't ever even read this, much less write the last part. Where did the Sniper end up? How will he and Engie resolve their encounters with Spy and Soldier? Will the Demo get plastered to his satisfaction? Even a hint about what'll happen to Andy, and how the BLU Spy dealt with the end of the alliance? What of Pyro, Medic, and Heavy, who made but a brief cameo the whole time? I am desperately scouring the internet for a more complete version of this story.