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No. 3635
Refrigerator (TF2chan Secret Santa 2008 submission)
Summer in the desert, Pyro had learned, was as close to hell as any mortal could approach. He had it the worst out of the whole team: the rubber and asbestos-lined suit wasn't the best for allowing his skin to breathe to the outside air. RED wasn't exactly the most generous corporation when it came to employee housing either, so the base became as hot as Satan's own bowels when the sun hung high in the sky. There was one refuge, though: the kitchen freezer. Scout after his morning jog would often rest in the freezer and drink copious amounts of soda and other energy drinks. Sniper, being a lazy type of man, often fell asleep in there, far overstaying his break from keeping watch on the base's battlements. He also had a penchant for keeping bottles of beer in there to have them chill quickly.
Pyro, for one, didn't like the freezer much; he preferred the heat of the ovens and stove, even though the heat outside made him sweat torrents.
One especially hot afternoon, Pyro was attempting to relieve himself of the heat by sitting in the shade on the battlements, keeping Sniper company while the Australian discussed his own adventures in the searing Outback, stalking whatever prey he could find.
“One time, out in the bush there, I found this mighty huge water buffalo. So there I was, sittin' out all alone for days, stalking this big beaut', waitin' for the perfect opportunity to shoot 'is head out.” Sniper smiled as he looked through his rifle's scope, watching intently the BLUs on the opposite side of the moat splash around one at a time in an improvised wading pool made out of an old washtub. He reached to his side, picked up a handkerchief, and wiped his brow, all without moving his head an inch.
Pyro, curious of Sniper's ventures in the Australian wilderness, waved his hand in a circle, goading him on. “Haha, right. Then, next thing I know, this bugger of a buffalo ran off, right into the crevice there. Somethin' scared the wits out of him, probably a dingo or somethin'. Anyway, poor blighter broke his legs, so I did him in. Delicious pieces of meat, though. I was full for days on end there.”
Pyro hung his head, slightly disappointed by the less-than-interesting ending. He moved his hand to his own brow, attempting to wipe his own brow of the torrent of sweat, but was stopped by his restricting helmet. A groan of agony escaped the air filter. He was used to the heat, but...
A light, quick pattering of feet sounded from the doorway. Pyro peeked his head around the corner and saw the nimble Scout sprint around the corner, almost breaking Pyro's neck as he ran past.
“Yo, sorry, Flamer,” the Bostonite apologized as he came to a screeching halt. “But I think they need you in the kitchen or somethin'. Freezer's busted, I think. You know how to fix it?”
“Nwydeynee M helfo?” Pyro growled, moving wearily to his feet. Even in the oppressive heat outdoors, he didn't want to go into the constricting base, much less to the cold freezer.
Scout looked at Sniper for a translation. Without batting an eye Sniper replied, “I think he wants to know why you lot chose him to fix the freezer, mate. It DOES sound like more of a job for Engie.” He adjusted his shoulder slightly and recalibrated his sight. Pyro and Scout walked off as Sniper continued, “Then again, what do I know? I'm stuck out here in the blazes of hell itself day in and out. Bloody wankers never give me a day off.” He looked over his shoulder after a moment of silence, and saw they'd both already gone. He mumbled, reassuring himself he was of at least some use to the rest of them. Then it dawned:
“The beer. No cold beer!” He stood suddenly, his rifle clattering to the floor and the box he was sitting on turning end over end. He jogged off to the kitchen after Scout and Pyro.
He found most of the team gathered around the large freezer door. Medic was consoling a weeping Heavy, his sobs muted by his huge hands covering his face. Engineer, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, stood with Pyro just in front of the freezer. Scout watched the events, rubbing his nose with his bound hands. “So what should we do? Let that shit go to rot?”
Engineer didn't look away from the door, still intently watching the tiny temperature gauge. “Well, from what I see here, it's warming by about a degree every hour.” He sighed. “We'll just have to keep that there door closed. Hopefully it'll stay warm if we keep that cold in there.”
“The meat!” Heavy wailed. “What about the meat for lunch?! What will I do without sandvich? How will I live without sandvich?” He placed his face into Medic's soldier as he weeped louder, his nose wheezing with an excess of snot.
“Ugh, quiet, you big oaf!” Medic said, patting his back comfortingly. “You can't eat that bad meat. You'll get incredibly sick.”
Heavy's wails grew louder at this. “I WILL NOT LIVE!” Medic groaned at his friend's melodramatic reaction.
Scout's stomach began to growl. He rubbed it, remembering that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. “Engie, get outta the way, I'm hungry. Lemme get something out of there.”
“Now Scout, I just done told you that you can't do that until we fix it,” Engineer stated without looking away from the freezer's gauge. It had risen a miniscule amount. He shook his head. “Well, all this food's gonna be gone soon. Bit of a waste on RED's part, if you ask me. They really need to send less perishable stuff.”
“Why don't we just eat it all?” Scout said matter-of-factly. “You know, save the good stuff at least.”
Heavy's head perked up at this. “Eat food... now?” His tear-reddened eyes beamed almost as much as his growing smile as realization swept over his brain. “Haha, little man has point! Eat food before it goes bad. What a smart little baby!” He slapped Scout on the back (causing him to wince and call Heavy “a son of a bitch”) as his booming laughter echoed in the tiny kitchen.
“Yeah, let's get on with those beers, then!” Sniper said, pushing his way past Engineer and Pyro. “Come on then, let's go! I'll even let you blokes have some, if I can have the day off tomorrow, that is.” The kitchen soon filled with the din of everyone's requests.
“Now boys,” Engineer said. Their voices grew louder in response. Engineer gritted his teeth, trying to distract himself by fixing his goggles onto his eyes. At Scout's suggestion that they just let him have all of the food, he snapped. “NOW WAIT JUST A GOSH DERN MINUTE, FOLKS!” he yelled, earning him immediate silence from the rest. “Let's just go over this more systematically, alright? We can't possibly eat all this food---”
“That's bullshit, man. You know how we eat. Heavy could eat a fucking car if he wanted to,” Scout added.
Heavy slapped him on the back again, laughing loudly. “Haha! Little man wants to eat! I say let him. He needs more meat on his girly arms!” He grabbed his arms, twisting them painfully. Medic pinched his nose in frustration.
“Get the fuck off me, fatty,” Scout said, pulling them away quickly, rubbing the reddening areas where Heavy had gripped him. “How about I just bash that hollow head of yours in, you fat punk?”
Engineer stood contemplatively again, staring at the gauge which had risen yet another minute amount during the argument. He felt Pyro nudge him in the arm. When he looked over, he simply pointed to himself, the freezer, and then gave a thumbs up. “Daohay.”
Engineer thought for a minute more, then decided. “Alright then, we'll make all this food here. Hope your stomachs are empty, boys. Gotta lotta eatin' ahead of you.” He walked out of the kitchen.
Scout and Heavy immediately ceased their scuffle, Heavy having picked up the Bostonite by his shirt collar and teasing him. He dropped him immediately, Scout falling to the ground in a sad heap with a quiet groan. “Sandvich!” he called, unlatching the freezer door and peeking his head in, “I am coming for you!”
Pyro reached up above the cabinets near the stove and found his trusty chef's hat. Heavy had already filled his arms with as much food as he could gather and was now marching proudly out of the freezer. He walked up to the counter and dumped all of the food there next to the stove with a mighty crash. Pyro just stared at Heavy, his darkened mask hiding a slight perturbation.
“Sorry, Fireman. But we must save all food!” He marched off again as if on a dire mission for the survival of the whole team.
Scout came out carrying many boxes of food as well, trying to prove to Heavy that his arms weren't as weak as he thought they were. He dropped them on top of Heavy's own pile. Pyro lit the stove and oven as Scout started discussing the situation.
“Man, I have a feeling we're not going to be doing much today. I think my stomach's going to be bursting by the time I go to bed. Hope I don't feel like shit in the morning.” Pyro nodded, grabbing a large piece of frozen beef. Scout leaned against the counter, watching the growing commotion.
“No, Sniper!” Medic called, standing in front of the freezer door with his arms crossed. “You cannot drink all of that beer by yourself.”
“Now now, Doctor, I'm not going to drink it all. There's a bit in here for you lot. Here, even your Kraut head can enjoy a beer now and then?” He took a bottle out of the large box in his arms and shoved it into Medic's hand. “Look, nice and cold, a frosty beer for a hot day.” He walked past Scout, who held his own hand out expectantly. “Haha, even the quick little bugger wants his own brew. Here y'go, mate.” He placed another cold glass in Scout's tape-bound hand as he walked out of the room.
Medic followed him swiftly. “You are going to make yourself sick again!” he called, placing his own bottle behind Scout on the counter as he passed by. Scout picked it up quickly with his empty hand and smiled.
“Aww yeah, today's going to be a good day,” he laughed, deftly whacking the cap off of the bottle on the edge of the counter. Pyro just nodded again.
Scout took a swig of the beer. He wasn't an experienced drinker; much like everything else he dealt in, he liked to give off the image of a know-it-all Masshole. His face soured almost immediately, and he spit it out in a fine spray right onto the flame on the stove. It jumped up, blue flames licking Pyro's chin. He gave a sound of immense amusement and clapped a few times, obviously impressed. Scout laughed also as he sputtered. “How can that Aussie drink this crap?”
Engineer returned, one hand hanging to his side, carrying his huge toolbox. He placed it right inside the freezer door, grabbed something off of the shelf, and walked up to Pyro.
“Now Pyro, this here is my favorite gravy,” he stated, pointing at the label which simply read “GRAVY (SAUSAGE).” “You best make sure nobody, and I mean NOBODY, eats this before I can get a bit of it. Can you do that for me?”
Pyro nodded and gave a quiet, “Uh huh,” in reply.
Engineer clapped him on the shoulder with his gloved hand. “You're a good man, Pyro.” He turned his attention to Scout, giving what the young man thought was a glare through his dark brown goggles. “If you even lay a finger on my food, boy, I'll whip you so hard you won't see straight for days.”
“Is that an offer, Hardhat?” Scout joked, smiling widely. “I didn't know y'were a fag. Maybe you should talk t' Spy about that problem of yours.”
Engineer gritted his teeth and opened his mouth as if to say something else, but simply walked away. Scout chuckled to himself.
Soon the kitchen was filled with the smell of various foods and the sounds of Engineer working on the freezer. Scout sat at the table next to Heavy, each with a filled plate of random meats, vegetables, and starches. Two empty bottles sat in front of Heavy's plate. He pointed to one as he stuck a fork full of bad steak into his mouth. “This,” he chewed for a moment, “THIS is horrible! Like drinking my own urine!”
Scout looked sideways at the Russian as he stopped chewing. “Y'know, I'm tryin' to eat here. How can you say that nasty crap when I'm tryin' to fuckin' eat? 'Drinkin' your own piss,' I mean, what the fuck is that?”
Heavy laughed through a mouthful of food as Medic sat down across from him, his own plate covered in a coil of fine sausages, saying, “You know, urine is quite sterile. Unless you are sick, that is.” Scout's fork clattered to the table as he covered his face in frustration and disgust. “If it wasn't for all of the toxins in it, it'd be quite a good way to keep yourself alive if you were in dire straits,” Medic continued.
“Fuckin' sick,” Scout complained as he rose with his plate in his hands. “I'm goin' outside. Maybe Sniper won't talk about this sick shit.” He stormed off. Engineer pounded on the freezer's engine with his wrench, causing a clatter throughout the kitchen. Pyro was still hard at work, silent as he cooked all of the food he could find. The pile on the counter next to him had grown noticeably smaller.
“It is just medicine,” Medic stated as he gingerly cut a piece of sausage with his knife. “Er soll nicht so kindisch sein...”
“Hm, yes,” a voice said behind him. Medic dropped his utensils, and without turning around to see who it was said, “Spy, du Scheißkopf! I will drain your blood!”
Spy laughed from his nose. “I was just agreeing with you, mon Docteur.” He sat down swiftly, sweeping his legs over the seat of his chair and placing his plate (which was curiously empty save for a small fried egg) onto the table silently.“That boy will never understand the world.”
“Ja, ja,” Medic said, picking up his knife and fork again. “But you do not seem too well-adjusted yourself, Spy. All you are is abenteurlich, cloak and dagger.”
Spy cut a small piece off of the egg, even more gingerly than Medic, his pinkies standing in the air as he did so. “Hm, well, yes. That is the way I work.” He laughed softly.
They ate silently for a few minutes, except for a few moments where Heavy chewed loudly and moments where something sizzled on Pyro's pan. Soon Spy finished his small meal. He pushed himself back from the table, looking slightly disappointed. “It seems I am still hungry,” he said quietly, looking around the kitchen intently. He saw a steaming bowl of Engineer's sausage gravy sitting on the counter next to Pyro. “I'll be just one moment, mes amis,” he said as he vaporized in front of their eyes.
Medic sighed as Heavy was scraping the meat's juices off of his plate and into his mouth. When he finished he sat back in his chair and sighed. “So delicious,” he breathed. “I haven't eaten THAT much since I got here!”
Evening came when Engineer finally finished repairing the freezer. He wiped his brow of the small layer of sweat that had formed as he used his other hand to close and latch the freezer door. The engine hummed happily as cold air filled the small room. Pyro had long since finished cooking all of the food. The pans, plates, pots, forks, and knives were all cleaned and put away. “No gravy?” Engineer wondered.
He wandered out to the battlement, where Sniper was sitting in the exact same spot he always did. A dozen beer bottles were strewn about his feet, and Scout laid nearby, his stomach swollen with the huge amount of food he had eaten. He groaned weakly. “I'm never going to be able to take a jog tomorrow. I'm out of shape now!” He weeped for a moment before going silent.
“Scout,” Engineer said. “Did you eat my gravy?”
“What?” Scout asked drearily. “What? No. I didn't touch that stuff. I ate just about everything else though.” He belched loudly and groaned again.
“Best not be lying to me, boy. I'll find out if you are.”
“Man, I'm tellin' ya, I didn't eat your fucking gravy!” His face was turning a light shade of green. “Just...go away.” He burped again as he crawled over to the ledge and leaned his head over.
“Hey, you'll be alright, kid,” Sniper said, still watching intently the BLUs across the moat. Engineer walked back into the base.
He walked slowly through the base's maze of corridors to his room, opening the door lazily as he flipped on the light. He looked at the ground in front of the door, and there sat an empty but dirtied plate, covered in a light coating of sausage gravy. A note sat on top. Engineer bent over to read it:
“-Your Lover Spy.” A crudely drawn heart was next to his signature. Engineer threw it to the ground and groaned as he collapsed onto his bed face first.
Scout retched over the edge of the battlement; Sniper still hadn't moved an inch. The BLUs were now having a barbecue in front of the base, their own Engineer cooking racks of ribs over a small flame. Their Demo and Sniper clanked two beer bottles together.
“Lucky sods,” the RED Sniper said, taking a final swig from his last bottle of beer. A hum appeared on the borders of his hearing, growing louder with each passing moment. Soon it grew to a drone.
Scout sat up and wiped his lips. “It came outta my nose,” he said, spitting over the edge onto the ground.
“Open your mouth next time,” Sniper said. “Now be quiet and stop your bitchin'.” The droning rose to a buzz as a huge cargo airplane, emblazoned with the RED corporate logo, soared over the base. A huge box fell out of its back, a parachute breaking its fall. It landed with a thud in front of the RED side of the bridge.
Sniper hopped down from the ledge, nearly landing in Scout's puddle of vomit. He walked over to the wooden parcel and read the stencil on its side:
“FOODSTUFFS”
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