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No. 297
Yesterday’s storm seemed to have worn itself out, although a meager strain of drizzle was still falling as Pyro picked up the breakfast dishes and deposited them in the scrub sink.
“Mph?” He asked, standing over Sniper. Sniper was the only one left at the table.
Sniper’s hat was pulled low over his face and he slowly pushed a slice of meat around the plate, through a puddle of cold, congealing yolk. He gave a viscous snort and rubbed at his nose.
“Oud n eh rrn, ffr hurs,” Pyro muttered chidingly, leaving Sniper’s plate too him.
“Shud ub,” He said through a severely stuffed nose, making another horrible, clogged drain noise. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to be out in the rain, but it had been worth it.
Pyro proceeded to make his own plate of breakfast, now that everyone was mostly gone. Two eggs, a piece of toast and some slices of lightly fried meat. He didn’t really deserve two eggs, since they were a rare commodity and they were getting low on them-- feeding nine people, nothing lasted very long. There weren’t enough eggs for one each tomorrow anyway, so one less wasn’t going to hurt anyone.
Plate in hand, Pyro patted the sniffling Sniper on the head and disappeared deeper into the base, the find someplace private to eat.
A loud, angry and familiar bellow filled the halls. Pyro turned and looked in the direction of Soldier’s “War Room,” then doubled his speed and disappeared into the halls.
“THOSE CURS! THOSE RAPSCALLIONS! THOSE…. JOKERS! OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!”
Once upon a time the room had had a different purpose. The long table and numerous chairs suggested it was, once upon a time, a meeting room. Now it was The War Room-- Soldier’s private quarters. Typically the walls were coated with maps, and the maps were full of pins; Acupuncturist Soldier had done his best to soothe the maps’ pains in all their major cities and strategic locations. When pins didn’t work, he’d go at the maps with markers.
The maps changed all the time, rotating around the room into various areas of importance, depending on which civilization Soldier was convinced was the greatest threat at the time.
Today was no different. He stood before his maps, pacing and ranting, one hand holding a pen, the other full of pins.
The only difference was the maps.
“Treacherous Spades… It’s our solemn duty, isn’t it, King?” He said, glancing over his shoulder to Shovel, which was perched upright in one of the chairs. Occupying four other spots at the table were playing cards, organized in stacks by their suit. Dozens upon dozens of cards, “We must take it before they do. Yes, North, over the river… What was that? … Ah, yes, yes, a terrifying foe, we’ll need to avoid Jinjur. She’s a crafty one. But if we double back to the south we’ll be in Munchkin Land, coming in directly from the Yellow Brick Road. They’ll expect us there! Damn them! Trying to take the Emerald City before we can! If we allow them to take Oz, Wonderland will surely fall next!”
Soldier stormed in circle, looking at his other maps. Neverland. Wonderland. Oz. Middle Earth. Florin and Guilder. A small map, off to the side, of Le Petit Prince’s tiny planetoid. All of them covered in scrawls and arrows, plans and directions and orders. He’d been at it all night, planning, yelling, and preparing.
“Off with their heads, that’s what I say!” he grumbled, sticking a pin fiercely into the Emerald City, “Yes, yes, off with their heads.”
God only knew where he’d found the maps.
The sound of a showerhead echoed from beyond the tiled half-wall that separated the sinks, stalls and urinals from the showers. Spy was still wearing the butchered pair of pants from several days ago. It was the only article of clothing that really fit with the bulky cast on his leg. He was leaning on one crutch awkwardly and peering in the mirror.
His balaclava was pulled partially up so he could shave. A little five o’clock shadow was unavoidable-- and gave one an sense of mystique and danger-- but too much got uncomfortable when ones face was covered twenty-four hours a day.
There was a long, wobbling squeak, followed by relative quiet, as the water stopped. Not long after that, there was the sound of moist footsteps on the slip-proofed, pale blue tiles.
“Spy.”
With a razor actively moving around the distinct and severe angles of his face, Spy could only gave the merest flicker of eye contact in the mirror to indicate he had heard Heavy speak.
“… How is your leg?” Heavy asked slowly.
Spy didn’t really have much of an answer for that. The thigh high cast on his right leg said far more succinctly than any words could that his leg was still quite broken. He wasn’t about to stop himself in the middle of shaving to answer a question with such an obvious answer.
“You are… all right?” Heavy asked, “Team is not team without every person.”
Spy rinsed the shaving detritus off and patted his face dry with his towel, then pulled his balaclava back down and turned back around. Heavy was still damp from his shower, standing in a small puddle with naught but a towel around his waist and a painfully pathetic expression.
Spy cast his eyes down to his own feet. Heavy hadn’t meant to get him injured. The huge Russian took such a pride in the protection of his team-- the guilt he felt for Spy’s injury was almost tangible in the air. A suave grin slid across Spy’s face as he looked back up, “A fine job, ’eavy. Quite ze victory, last battle. All zanks to you, zey say.”
Heavy’s worry was lifted away and a grin crossed his face, “Da, you think so? Nothing can stop us.”
It seemed Heavy had more to say, but he was interrupted by a proud, “Woo!” Both Spy and Heavy looked toward the line of urinals on the other wall, where Scout stood-- a good five feet from the wall with his hands behind his head-- accompanied by the liquidy sound of relief.
“SCOUT!” Heavy barked, “If you make mess, we make you clean bathroom-- and with toothbrush!”
Scout’s hands quickly fell back out of view.
In the backyard, not too far beyond the cellar doors, was The Still. Her surface gleamed, copper polished to a blinding sheen, she was haloed by the glow of the sun as it peeked through the morning haze and dispersing clouds.
With strained care, Demo carefully wiped every speck of dirt and grime from her, detailing each fitting, buffing each screw and polishing each rivet. The rain yesterday had left her covered in water marks and splashed with mud around her base, but Demo took nothing but pleasure from keeping her immaculate. Following behind him, with a small, padded pipe wrench, Engineer checked the fittings, making sure none of them were too loose or too tight.
While Engineer didn’t come close to sharing the Demoman’s love of alcohol, he did enjoy good craftsmanship when he saw it-- and since he’d built a great deal of her, he could appreciate how good the craftsmanship really was. He’d built it, that was true, but Demo had created her; Demo had given her a soul. Her name was Caoimhe-- which Demo pronounced as “Kiva,” so that was what Engineer called her-- and she seemed to be the closest thing Demo had to a religion.
“Ach, wut a great day!” Demo announced, looking at his shining idol, “We’ll have some good stuff wit’ dinner tonight.”
“Darn tootin’,” Engineer added.
Kiva was distilling a fine whiskey that would be ready within a few hours; they were estimating about four bottles from this batch. It wasn’t a lot, but it went a long way. This was no mere battle Scrumpy, which was toilet sangria (almost literally) compared to the liquid ambrosia birthed by the ethanol goddess.
“You know lad, I havena thanked ye for all the help ya’ve been wit’ Caoimhe,” Demo was remarkably understandable this morning. He wasn’t particularly drunk; he’d had some with breakfast-- “hair o’ the dog that bit ye!”-- to stave off the morning hangover, but he wouldn’t dare drink in front of Kiva. The Engineer had asked him why once, and had only been greeted with a blank stare, as though he’d asked him something more akin to “but why don’t you eat babies?”
“Don’t fret over it pardner,” Engineer responded, “It’s a pleasure to do some work I know won’t be the target of any darn Spies.”
“Yer jus’ askin’ fer trouble, sayin’ that out loud,” Demo chided, waving his polishing rag at Engineer teasingly. Engineer just laughed.
Medic stood at the scrub sink and washed the morning’s breakfast dishes. It was demeaning, a surgeon’s hands doing dishes, but it had to be done and it was one of the easier chores.
They’d tried to get HQ to send them a maid. Someone who could keep the messes under control, do the light work: dishes, windows, floors. And HQ had.
She’d been a feisty lass. She’d quickly quelled Sniper’s advances (with a fiercely applied foot which had required Sniper to sit out of activities several days off), she’d drunk with Demo (not better than Demo, but she’d lasted a few rounds with him), she’d even run out of the shower room sopping wet, clad in nothing but a towel, and beaten Scout with a back scrubber when she’d caught him peeking in on her. But that was all before she’d seen what a battle looked like. Before they’d trudged contently back into the base, dripping blood and nursing wounds. The sight of Scout, knuckles scabbing and purple, face smeared with blood not solely his own; Demoman, proudly drunk and waving his still hot grenade launcher around, flecks of enemy flesh spackled across his uniform, Heavy, carrying the huge, terrifying Sasha, accompanied by Medic, enthusiastically gesturing with the gore-encrusted bonesaw. Everyone of them proudly badged with blood, yet without a care in the world.
Medic remembered it well. The look of horror in her eyes made her beautiful, but it reflected them as monsters. She’d run off to some corner of the base and they’d had to send Spy-- whose suits were always clean, whose charm and sympathy could be flipped on like a light-- to speak with her.
Then they had to send her back. She wasn’t a BLU. She was a hired girl. She’d been warned there might have been some “minor altercations,” but she wasn’t told anything about their real purposes.
Sighing, Medic shook his head. Bureaucracy.
“Good initiative. We have taken the enemy Intelligence,” the Announcer said smugly.
A plate fell from his hands, splashing warm water down the front of his coat. In his stunned silence, he could hear the rest of his team’s confusion echoing down the halls.
They congregated outside the kitchen.
“I didn’t do it!” Scout said quickly.
“Whad de ‘ells goin’gh on?” Sniper asked congestedly.
Pyro ran up, a little later than everyone else, wiping at the yolk he’d accidentally spilled on his suit. A few moments later, clacking as he came, they were joined by Spy.
“Who is missing?” Spy asked.
A cursory glance indicated…
“Ach, zis is all mein fault!” Medic gasped, “Soldier! Zat bonk on ze head! His delicate condishun…”
Everyone milled about uselessly.
“Vell?” Medic called, “Let’s go!”
Soldier was hastily making his way up the RED straight-away, a trail of papers fluttering in the still air as he ran.
The frantic blast of a scattergun roared through the air-- most of it hit the Intel briefcase, just slightly throwing off Soldier’s loping gait. Soldier turned, swinging shovel in a wide arc as he did.
RED Scout was coming up on Soldier fast-- but he was all too familiar with how painful a shovel to the face was. He tried to dodge, his hands flailing, trying to grab the Intel all the same. Luck was with RED Scout, he was too close to Soldier-- Shovel missed, but Soldier’s arm didn’t and the enemy Scout tumbled roughly through the doorway, off the wooden walkway and into the courtyard mud-- but he had their Intel back.
“No one treats The Queen like that!” Soldier howled, waving Shovel at the Scout.
A RED sticky whizzed just over his head and hit the far wall of the courtyard-- accompanied by a thick, unintelligible swearing. Soldier turned and ran along the upper wooden path, fleeing back toward his home base. Quickly, off the battlements and onto the bridge, past Heavy, who was spun up and waiting, and Medic who was loyally behind him.
Spy stood just outside the main doors and lit a new cigarette. Leaning on his crutches, he waved toward the RED battlements. He could see RED Sniper. RED Sniper, he knew, could see him. Spy squinted as the bright sight flitted over his eyes-- but the shot didn’t come. The red dot wobbled and looked around trailing down his chest and noting the cast on his leg. It trailed away from Spy and instead hung out on the wall next to the western BLU doorway.
“Merde,” Spy muttered, throwing a rude gesture RED Sniper’s way.
Luckily the RED Soldier was on his way out of the RED base and toward the bridge. He never thought before firing.
The RED Intel lay in the dirt where the RED Scout had fallen. He could have taken it back into the safety of the Intelligence Room, but something had distracted him.
“Dumbass!” Scout laughed, punching RED Scout in the face.
RED Scout turned and spat blood on the ground, his split lip oozing crimson down his chin, “Jackass!” he responded, popping Scout a good one in the eye.
The two punched and kicked, rolling in the dirt and scuffling like two puppies. Their weapons were discarded-- this was more personal than bullets or bats. This was fists and teeth and sweat and blood.
Blood dripped from Scout’s nose and a black eye was rapidly forming. RED Scout had a matching shiner, and his teeth were rimmed in red from the split in his lip. Both wore expressions of crazed, berserker glee. Scout shoved RED Scout aside and punched him in the solar plexus.
RED Scout choked as the air was knocked from his lungs, spraying blood and saliva onto Scout-- who stopped and wiped at his face frantically.
“Sick, man!” he barked.
“Hey,” RED Scout croaked, gasping for air and wiping at the drips of foreign blood spattered around his face, “You’re getting… freaking… nose blood… on my face!”
“So call it, man!” Scout said, leaning back on his heels and smacking his own chest proudly, “Say I win.”
“I ain’t calling on account of nose blood! S’just blood, ya wuss!” RED Scout said.
“Bring it on!”
RED Scout glanced at him tiredly, chest still burning from the sudden oxygen evacuation, “Gimme a minute… that fuckin’… fuckin’ hurt man.”
“Oh you wuss!” Scout crowed, snickering.
RED Scout shifted his weight, then brought his own fist sharply into Scout’s own solar plexus. Scout gaped for a moment, then fell face-first into the dirt.
“Ah, fuck man,” He gasped.
“Told ya,” RED Scout responded, smirking and watching his BLU counterpart try to catch him breath.
“I’m gonna… kick your ass… next round,” Scout said, “As soon… as I get my breath back… fucker.”
RED Scout, still laying in the dirt, put his hands behind his back, “Until then… man, I gotta tell you about yesterday… it was… wicked weird.”
Sniper sat in his nest, sniffling, rifle sight to his eye. The slight fisheye warp on the lens was making him dizzier and he could barely breath without coughing. He hadn’t been out in the rain that long yesterday. Four, five hours max.
He should have just stayed outta this battle, but then he would have just been sick. At least out here there was a chance of respawn-- and he’d feel better once--
Sniper didn’t have a chance to finish his thought. He slumped over, hitting the wooden floor like a sack of pudding. The wall behind where he’d been crouched was decorated with a chrysanthemum of blood, brain matter and mucus.
Across the main stretch, RED Sniper smirked, “Damn wanker, day dreaming or somethin’.”
Then RED Sniper, too, collapsed-- but with his head much more intact, and his back much more stabbed.
Spy looked down at him, lit a new cigarette, re-cloaked and went on his way. With his mobility back, and a fresh suit, it was business as usual again, and that meant bothering RED Engineer.
RED Pyro was patrolling the spiral, so Spy choose the straightaway. He snuck past the RED Demo, who was gleefully coating the straight-away entrance with stickies. It took all his restraint to not stab the clearly presented back, but that would have given him away, and ruined all his fun.
On the way down the stairs, he took his cloak down to let it recharge. He could hear RED Engineer contently hammering away on what sounded like a level two sentry. The beeps were distinct. It was a lot of wrenching; it would be a level 3 soon. Spy hesitated and checked his watch. Mostly recharged, but not fully yet. Enough to give him a moment to assess the situation.
RED Engineer patted his level one sentry on its top as it scanned the room. He was an odd one, the silly red-clad laborer. Beside the boy and his pet, a level three sentry stood guard. Behind the cluster of death and destruction a dispenser purred and perked. They were camped in the corner between the two doors. How kind of him to put all his eggs in one neat little basket.
Spy retreated to the corridor and let his cloak finish recharging while Engineer muttered to himself inside, his nonsense and mathematics just audible over the beep and whirr of his two sentries.
Fully charged, Spy decided to have some fun. Invisible and quiet, he stuck a sapper on the level one sentry.
It gave a sad chirp as it powered down. Spy went to the shadow of the level 3 sentry.
“Damn you Spah!” RED Engineer growled, “I know you’re here.”
He waited a few moments, until the sapper had been removed from the level one-- then stuck one on the level three. Immediately after sapping the three, he sapped the one again and instead of running back to the hall he dove behind the desk and began to recharge.
“Oooh, Spah!” RED Engineer barked, whacking the sappers off his precious guns. He was used to Spy’s tricks by now and didn’t follow him out into the room. He stayed in his corner, just in front of his dispenser and waited, hefting his wrench threateningly, “I holler and Pyro’ll be down here in a hurry fer sure, son, don’t think I won’t do it. Only reason I ain’t called yet is because I’d prefer to take you down myself. You’ve caused me a right heap o’ trouble and I’ve got a bit of a bone to pick with you.”
Spy ignored his rantings, which were plenty long to let his cloak finish recharging. As soon as it was activated he sauntered over, calmly walking right past Engineer and crossing behind the sentries. He set a sapper on both guns the quickly jumped on to the dispenser and squeezed himself between it and the wall.
“Aw, dag nabbit, nab daggit!” RED Engineer exclaimed, whacking at the sentries, “PYRO!” he called, “PYRO! There’s a SPAH!”
RED Pyro came running, enthusiastic flames spewing from his flamethrower. He circled the room like a good boy, checking the corners and behind the desk. No screaming blues appeared, so he crossed back to RED Engineer, flamethrower angled down peacefully. He looked at RED Engineer for a moment, then gave him a hesitant singeing.
RED Engineer laughed, “Not me, Py… Musta gone out the other way. You stick with me, he’ll be back. Damned, stubborn spahs.”
He tossed a RED Spy disguise on before his cloak could run out, and leaned against the dispenser calmly. He could wait to recharge and flee, but this was so much more fun. The dispenser purred and cooed comfortingly, letting its healing warmth envelope him. With two REDs here, he was in some trouble, especially with one being RED Pyro. What he needed was a distraction-- and the best thing about being in an Intel room was sooner or later, someone else would want to be in it too.
A pair of blue grenades bounced into the room, exploding near the sentries. They began to whine like confused, mechanical hounds.
“Shit, boy, get back here!” RED Engineer told RED Pyro, who immediately obliged. RED Engineer set to repairing his sentries-- another pair of grenades bounced in, closer this time. Pyro reflected them.
With the REDs distracted, Spy climbed on top of the dispenser, still disguised. Raising his knife he leapt down onto RED Pyro.
The sentries guns did an immediate about face-- he leapt back behind the dispenser and re-disguised as the explosion went off, rockets aimed where he’d been a moment before. He took some superficial damage, but the dispenser blocked a fair amount. Quickly activating his disguise-- the RED Spy-- he leapt out from behind the dispenser, activating his cloak as he did.
Engineer quickly and desperately emptied his shotgun around the room, aiming for doors, aiming around the tops of his sentries and failing entirely to hit Spy.
Crouched low to the floor, Spy snuck back behind Engineer coming around his sentries the other way.
As Engineer fumbled to reload, Spy stuck sappers on both sentries and then turned. His arm curled around Engineer’s neck, holding him in place as his knife found its way to the small of Engineer’s back and stayed there
“Demo!” Spy called, “It is safe!”
Demo peeked in and looked toward the corner, grenade launcher held high. He gave Spy a quick glance up and down, “Ach, you playin’ wit’ your food again, Spy?”
The tiny, level one sentry gave a sad pop and collapsed into a smoking heap.
“Just grab ze Intel,” Spy said, smirking.
“Now, Spy-- dinnae be fraternizing.”
“No way this side o’ hell, you BLU bastard,” Engineer snarled. The level three sentry smoked and arced electricity, and was destroyed by a small internal explosion, shattering into chunks of metal, “Oh, God, mah sentries,” he groaned.
“Zey are so cute when zhey struggle,” Spy cooed, grinning to himself as Engineer tensed in his grip. Spy looked at Demo, who was still watching him, “Will you be taking ze Intel? Zeir Pyro will be back any moment now.”
“Aye, I getcha,” Demo said, winking, grabbing the Intel and running off.
“Spahs,” RED Engineer spat, “Worthless curs. Ya oughta be put down like the sick dog ya’re, ya yellow bellied gutless coward. I know yer type; there’s only two people to a spah: people you’ve stabbed in the back, people you ain’t stabbed yet.”
Spy smirked, “You forgot about ze lovers” he teased.
“I ain’t gonna play yer games, Spah,” Engineer growled.
“Who said you ‘ad to play along?”
“So help me, Spah, I--”
RED Engineer was silenced by the knife in his back.
Spy looked calmly to dead man on the floor, “Poor petit American,” Spy chuckled, retrieving a new cigarette, “What ‘as your culture taught you? So afraid of men-- ze ladies, zey are a pleasure, but why limit yourself?” he took a long drag and shrugged, welcoming himself to a seat on the dispenser.
“It is not that I am interested… not in ze same way Rosso pursues… heh… ze Aussies,” Spy chuckled and rolled his eyes, “But, enemy mine, ze more you run ze more I must chase you. Zat is ‘ow it works,” he nudged RED Engineer’s limp form playfully, then crossed his legs and leaned back, confidant he had a few seconds to himself.
He was wrong.
“Must you talk about me like I’m not ‘ere?”
RED Spy decloaked nearby and leaned against the wall, close enough to the dispenser to pick up some of its energy. Spy took his disguise kit out of his pocket and offered RED Spy a cigarette, who wordlessly took him up on the offer. The RED lit the cigarette with his own lighter and they smoked in silence but for the beeping of the computers and humming of the dispenser.
“’ow is Caoimhe?” RED Spy asked casually, discarding the stub and retrieving another cigarette from his own case.
“Muzzer-to-be of a whiskey to be proud of, I ‘ear. More zan a bottle will be ‘ard to procure, but she’s worth quite a price,” Spy glanced in RED Spy’s direction shiftily, “‘Ow are ze hens?”
“Plentiful, but…” RED Spy took a meaningful drag off his cigarette and glanced at Spy.
Spy nodded slowly.
“Zey all know I take ze booze from your team, but Scout keeps a close eye on ze coop. He is slow, but he is not stupid.”
Spy took a slow drag, then blew a sleek stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth, “Find out what ’e wants.”
Back in the BLU base, Pyro ran out of the resupply eagerly. Damnable RED Soldier had chased Demo down into the sewers and right into Pyro. He’d managed to reflect the rocket, but in the narrow little pipe down there where was it supposed to go? He wasn’t sure if RED Soldier had made it, but he and Demo certainly hadn’t. He jumped off the wooden walkway, almost colliding with their own, slightly off-kilter Soldier.
“Ah, Three of Hearts, my good card-- they need you on the field! I’ve done my best, but this has become far too dangerous for we Monarchs,” Soldier gestured to Shovel, “Go and win one for the your Queen!”
Pyro chuckled, then bowed lowly and scurried off.
“Well, at least she has some manners,” Soldier said hautily, as he and Shovel retreated to the resupply.
Pyro continued on toward the bridge this time. He could hear Medic yelling.
“Fall back, mein Heavy!”
“But they are retreating!”
“Ze uber is almost prepared! Fall back until it is ready,” Medic repeated, falling back a few feet.
“I do not retreat!” Heavy barked, marching onward. The medi-gun’s beam was stretched to its maximum length. It flickered, then disappeared, as its target advanced too far.
RED Soldier appeared on the battlements and sent a rocket at the bridge. The shockwave sent Medic reeling back into Pyro, who helped Medic regain his feet as bits of Heavy dripped from the now scarlet section of the bridge.
“Dummkoff!” Medic chided, giving a grumpy huff and turning his Medi-gun on the Pyro.
“Ja-- Vas zat so bad?! Vas zat so long?!” he growled, “And now vere is mein Heavy? Zere! And zere and zere! Ach!” He continued to whine in a constant stream of German.
Pyro frantically patted Medic on the shoulder, pointing toward the RED base. RED Soldier had leapt down and RED Demo had joined him.
“Ve must fall back until Heavy returns.”
Pyro shook his head, “Noh tnn!” he said, tapping his wrist. He gestured to the medi-gun, then to himself.
“…Are you sure, mein Pyro? I know you… you do like ze … ‘medical procedures.’”
Pyro made a complicated shrugging gesture, then pumped his fists, “Hts dh ihd!”
Charging forward, he relished the rush of adrenaline, the ecstasy of the power and seeming invincibility. Flamethrower flaring, his legs seeming to chase down his prey with a mind all their own, he threw his head back and screeched a malicious cackle-- the battle cry of a temporary God.
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