The void was empty of everything, even pain. The only point of reference that existed there was a single, tiny sense of awareness; a promise, that this was not oblivion, and the world was only a heartbeat away. She seemed to hang in this purgatory for years, waiting, without the knowledge of who she was or why she was trapped there, for reality to call her back into service again. The first thing Spy became aware of was the feeling of cold metal underneath her. The air was neutral and still. She opened her eyes, and saw the white tiles of the Respawn room ceiling above her. She sat up on the table, feeling a little stiff. Her clothes were intact. Her knife was tucked into its usual place in her sleeve. The disguise kit and cigarettes were in her pocket. She was even wearing her glasses, and her hood was up. It was as if she had never been hurt, as if she had not died. She stood up and walked a few steps. Everything appeared to be working fine. Her body was completely whole, regenerated with her mind intact by the arcane technology. The klaxon sounded off in the distance, signalling the end of the day's battle. That was strange. Respawn was instant, or so she had been told. The doors locked behind her when she left. It was a little warm out here, due to the desert heat outside. She pushed her hood down, and tucked her sunglasses away; whether her teammates saw her or not seemed unimportant. Spy began to walk down the corridor towards her room, and paused to fish a cigarette out of her kit. She fumbled with the slim case, and it clattered to the floor. Her hands were shaking, and that wasn't right. Her hands never shook. But she couldn't keep them still now, no matter how much she tried. Spy stared at her fingers, feeling the horror rising in her head, the memory so powerful that it pulled her back into darkness. A distant, more numb part of her knew that she was going into shock. “Where the hell have you been, Frenchie?†Soldier was walking towards her, his helmet swinging from one hand and blood splattered across his arm. He had missed her. If she could explain, he might be able to help her, but she had no words for it yet, in any language she knew. The force of trying to make sense of it, to say something, was worse than any wound. Spy didn't really see him approach. Darkness closed in around her. “Spy? Goddamnit, you better not be sleeping on your feet or something...†She clutched at the front of his uniform, feeling the fabric bunch around her fingers, desperately trying to find a lifeline. She couldn't breathe. This wasn't the RED base anymore; she was in the Sniper's nest, broken and suffering, having her humanity stripped away out of cruelty. The stench of urine clogging her nose and mouth. Her torn and bleeding stomach. The hard wood pressed into her face. Her insides being ripped apart. The sensation of having her throat cut. The final fall into death. The memory was as real as if she was experiencing it for the first time. It replayed over and over, and there was nothing she could do to make it stop. Nothing she could have done except scream, and the reality of that destroyed her. Nothing else existed in the void except her crying, frightened self, and the memory of the rape. “...I said BREATHE, private, THAT IS AN ORDER!†Soldier's voice. Harsh and angry, with a cutting edge like her butterfly knife. He was always able to make himself heard. The sound seemed to come from a distance, but it felt more real than the memory that flayed her mind. Warmth, and faith; a flickering point of light that offered something good, something close enough to touch and grab onto. Accept her as part of the team. You're coming with me one way or another. Freedom meant something more than just a word. She could die here, inside her own head, but Soldier wanted her to live. He thought she was more than just meat. Maybe that was enough, if she held it close and found a way out of the abyss. Spy took a long, ragged breath, and opened her eyes. This was the RED base, and she was safe; it was just a memory, even if it was a terrible one. She forced herself to keep breathing, to ease the burning in her lungs. Every gulp of air filled her senses with the smell of clean sweat, with a faint hint of soap. Soldier held her tightly; warmth all around her, that anchored her here and kept the twisted memory at bay. Her face was buried in his neck, and the skin under her cheek was soft, comforting. This was real, and safe. He's not like the others. He won't try to break you. His heartbeat was strong and steady. Her pulse had been racing out of control, but while she felt each beat under her fingers, it gradually began to slow down and match his. The violent shaking that she had barely been aware of became less so. He didn't let her go, and he didn't say anything. He just waited, until she had fully come back from whatever was trying to consume her soul. It took a long time before she felt able to push him away and stand without support. His helmet was lying on the floor next to her disguise kit. She hadn't even heard it fall. Soldier gripped her shoulders firmly, and gave her a very hard stare. She met his eyes without flinching. “What. Happened.†The words felt strange, and her voice didn't sound right, but at least she remembered how to talk. Spy felt... somewhat calm, for some reason. Brittle, like a pane of glass, but functional. “The BLU Sniper raped me,†she said, almost puzzled at how easily she spoke of it. Soldier's eyes narrowed. The pressure on her arms increased for a moment, then he released her. “So what are you gonna do about it, Frenchie?†he asked quietly. She looked down for a moment, and stayed silent. What would she do? The answer seemed out of her grasp. She had never felt so powerless, not even during the war as she watched her country being overtaken by fascists. The shape of an idea suggested itself. What would a raped woman do, if she were a former French Resistance fighter? Someone who had once poisoned an entire regiment of Nazis; who had gutted one of their informants; who had killed again and again and enjoyed every minute of it? She looked up. “I am going to torture him. I am going to ruin him. When I finally kill him, he will wake up screaming.†Soldier didn't respond. He seemed to be judging her, as if she were a bomb that needed to be handled carefully. She wasn't sure if he was wrong in that estimation; she felt broken, incomplete, as if something vital hadn't come through Respawn with her, and she was in danger of falling into darkness again. But Soldier kept her here, and the solid familiarity of his presence pushed back the demons in her head. She watched him scoop up his helmet and her disguise kit, and took it when it was offered to her. He gestured back towards the kitchen with his thumb. “You need to eat, and Engie can tell us why you were in Respawn so long. Let's go.†“I am not hungry.†She said it by instinct, realizing that her hair and eyes were revealed. Spy never showed her entire face to her teammates – Soldier, of course, existed in another category that had no such restrictions – and to walk into their presence without her sunglasses and hood would be uncomfortable. But she didn't want to cover herself up, not while the abyss was so close. She needed light. “I'm sorry, did that sound like a request?†Soldier growled. “You're no good to us if you pass out from hunger, and I am NOT about to carry you into battle tomorrow, so the next words out of your mouth had better be SIR, YES, SIR!†It should be easy to disobey. Orders were merely suggestions to her, to be followed if convenient and ignored otherwise, but this was no normal situation. Spy knew that she was going to walk with Soldier and enter the kitchen as she was, and there she was going to eat regardless of whether she was hungry. It was a foregone conclusion, so powerful that she began to move without any more prompting. Her anchor wanted her to do something. She had to obey. They walked side by side, both staring rigidly ahead. She couldn't shake the feeling that the world was somehow only real while Soldier was close by.