Chapter Text
The prisoner rubbed sweaty palms on his orange jumpsuit. A shaky breath escaped his lips. He tried to suppress a grin. He was no stranger to giving death the slip. He practically made a career out of it. But this? Even for him, this was very, very fortunate.
The grim and taut woman in front of him looked to be in her seventies. Her face and hands were gaunt, her eyes narrowed and her lips thin and dry, barely having left a cigarette for but a few seconds at any given time. Her done up black hair and her pressed purple dress suit only further betrayed the status of someone with far more important things to attend to. She hadn't uttered a single word since he was shoved into the stuffy room by two towering prison guards, now blocking the entrance outside the steel door. Only the dim lamp buzzing above and the humming drone of the wall-mounted vent accompanied the woman’s page flips. He swallowed a bit, whatever delayed his sentence was fine by him. He wondered who she was, and what he had done for her to appear. It all felt like he couldn’t ask. Or that he should never know.
Yet here she was, and all he knew so far was that she had a job for him. That’s what the warden told him. He guessed that job wasn't “dance at the end of a rope” which was all he could hope for at this point. Shame about his escape plan. He sharpened his toothbrush for it and everything. He frowned a bit. On second thought, it was doomed to fail. Maybe if he had a tiny passport...
He dared a glance at the papers the woman was studying; current circumstances and her vaguely threatening aura be damned, he wanted answers. Some smoke poured from her nostrils and fell onto the paper, crisp and dry like the hands holding it. She tapped her cigarette over an ashtray, a small, monolithic slab, black as the void and of flawless craftsmanship. The smoke plumes glided further over the pile of folders. He could see one of them had his prison mugshots, some from his current prison, and some he was in before. The legs of his seat squealed against the concrete floor as he leaned in to get a closer look. None of the words could be read at that distance, so he tried instead to look for photos, newspaper clippings or even some familiar handwriting. The only thing he recognized so far were the mugshots, but even the form it was attached to was alien to him.
The woman flipped a stapled and slightly yellowed page over, drawing in another puff. The man tapped his fingers on his knee. He was about to bow his head down again, until a picture on the old paper caught his eye. It was a small black and white portrait of a young man. Piercing, alert eyes gleamed underneath very generously sized eyebrows, and his mouth was drawn in a grin. An immaculate Royal Air Force uniform completed the ensemble. He still had it. Either in a storage house in Queens or buried in a field in northern Montana. He’d have to check.
The prisoner stirred in his seat and pointed at the photo. “Where did you get that?” he dared to pull the corner of the paper in an attempt to free it.
The only part of her that moved were her eyes. A chilling gaze that immediately made him unhand it. The old steel chair squeaked as he sat back on it.
Yellowed nails pulled the papers out from the folder. She raised an eyebrow at them. “Army documents? Please.” She picked up the folder and went through its contents, away from prying eyes.
“If you're startled by how I got my hands on mere government records…” She slowly produced an envelope from the massive pile of papers and dangled in front of him. “...you won't like what’s in here.”
The man’s eyes widened. He snatched the envelope and gave it a once over, paying no heed to the woman's icy scowl. It was an older one, blank, a bit browned, but otherwise completely clean, save for three faint blood spots on the back of it.
He opened the lip of it slightly, eyes wide in disbelief. “No, It can't be…” His whispered words failed to pull any explanation from her. She averted her gaze with closed eyes and took another drag of her cigarette.
He pulled on the corner of the letter contained within. Only one flash of it met his eyes before he abruptly shut the envelope and grasped it against his chest. Eyes wide as saucers, he looked up at her. All of his questions only manifested as a small gasp that the woman cut short.
“The only thing you should know is that this, and many other tidbits about you weren't very hard to find.” She tapped the cigarette over the ashtray again.
The prisoner bared his teeth. “Tidbits?!” He waved the envelope forward for emphasis “This horrid communication is merely a point of amusement to you?!” His free hand gripped the armrest as he rose from his seat. The woman said nothing, despite the prisoner's outburst.
Her callous laugh suddenly cut through the silence. It was met by his growl.
“Do sit down.” Her tone was harsh, spoken through clenched teeth. He complied.
She drew out another smoke filled breath. The pungent tobacco hit the man’s flared nostrils, huffing to disperse the stifling fumes.
“I doubt you would have had any use for it in, oh…” She glanced at the clock on the side wall. “Two hours.”
He bowed down his head and let out a growling sigh. His resignation to letting her continue.
“I'm trying to help you, Starscream. Think of all of this as your resume.”
He jolted at hearing his nickname. He felt a strange surge of gratitude as he thought about the myriad of pseudonyms he made up for himself over the past three decades. None of them he wanted to hear her call him by, nevermind his real name. Especially not his real name. But maybe she didn't figure out his real name? Despite her nosiness, it could be the one thing she could not have pieced together.
Starscream's grip on the envelope lessened. He looked at it. How a mysterious woman rifling through his carefully concealed identity was supposed to help him, he didn't know. He didn't believe it. On top of that, the things she must have done just to halt this entire... process he was supposed to go through. It's a miracle if she won't be executed herself.
The envelope crinkled dryly in his hand, smelling faintly of dust that had been only recently cleaned off. He didn't feel thankful. Not after this.
“Anyway, better you have it than the termites.” A slight show of a curled lip suggested that she really couldn't care either way. “And don’t worry, I already had copies made.” She propped her elbow with her non-smoking hand.
His lips formed into a sneer at the thought of copies of this letter existing. Nevertheless, he tucked the letter into his jumper.
He slumped back into his chair and pulled it forward. “Very well.” Taking a deep breath – his disgust at all of the smoke hopefully not showing – he masked his defiance with a tone of minimal politeness. “What do you want from me?”
“Yes, enough pleasantries, I’ll get right to the point.”
The woman leaned forward, fingers intertwined, and on the table. “You are an incredibly lucky man. For every countless felony or treason against the state you have committed, there always was… something.” She flicked through the folder pile for emphasis. “An unlikely alibi, a well placed window, a sufficient bribe… There seems to be an escape for you at the ready at every turn.”
Starscream straightened himself up a bit. He was indeed renowned for not dying, and sometimes he even had a hand in it.
The woman rested her chin on crossed fingers. “And you needed them. You were never very subtle about your true motives.”
His objection was prefaced with a scoff. “Is honesty not a virtue?”
“It is…” The last word lingered, in the same way most would talk to a child. “And it makes my job so much easier. So many try to hide their motivations, masquerading behind rationality, martyrdom and sob stories. Others don't even know what they want.” Calm gestures punctuated her tale. “But you? I know what you crave above all else… One thing and one thing only: power.”
A smirk crept on Starscream’s face, trailing into a chuckle. “What can I say? I have simple tastes.”
She raised an eyebrow, and her grin faded back into her bored scowl. “Well, I can't give you power. That is something that is very, very hard-earned.” She took another slow drag of her cigarette, maintaining eye contact with him instead of returning to the papers. Starscream’s nose wrinkled as the smoke settled around him. He caught her implication, almost as vile as the potent fumes drying his throat.
“But I can give you the next best thing.” She didn't break eye contact as she put out her cigarette. “Two things, even. I’m feeling generous today.”
“And just what are these things?” Starscream narrowed his eyes, an attempt to seem like he was in a position to refuse anything better than bail and enough change to buy lunch afterwards.
The woman took another cigarette and lit it, taking a few starter puffs. Starscream let out a quiet, impatient huff of his own. “Simple: money and not dying.” She pulled out the bottom-most folder from the stack. It was unlike the other files, it looked brand new and relatively thin. She produced a small rectangular paper from it. “The former of which you'll find I can offer plenty.”
It was a check, to the order of five hundred thousand dollars.
“Your first monthly paycheck, should you accept this offer.” She slid it towards him.
Starscream stared flabbergasted at the paper. This woman… This complete stranger not only was saving him from death row, but doing so to the tune of six million dollars a year. This had to be a dream, or at least a horrid scheme of sorts. He turned the check over in his hand and inspected it. To his mixed horror and elation, it seemed legitimate.
He breathed in to compose himself, flattening the check back on the table. He crossed his legs and leaned back into his chair, hands on his knee. “And what do I have to do in return to reap these substantial benefits?”
“Are you at all familiar with mercenary work?”
Starscream leaned forward, grinning. “Well, I--”
She waved a hand, interrupting him. “Yes, ridiculous question, of course you are.” She tapped the cigarette into the ashtray a few times. “I was just making sure that we’re all on the same page.” Her mouth creeped into a grin for a few seconds. She resumed smoking, staring down at him.
Starscream’s mouth still hung agape from the interruption. He clenched it shut and leaned back in his chair once more, sighing out a low growl.
The gall of this woman… Sauntering in here, waving some of his most guarded secrets in his face as leverage for some headhunting contract. If he was in a better position, he’d send her away and simply organize a way to steal the money from her.
But he was in no such position. She was his only escape from certain death. He had surveyed this prison astutely. It was much better equipped than most facilities he usually found himself in, and the guards patrolled constantly, and in very irregular schedules. Cameras were everywhere, the checkpoints numerous and reinforced. And everyone he still had a shred of goodwill with was in deep as well, or even worse off.
Escape was impossible.
He stared at the check in front of him.
“So… What is this job, more specifically?”
*Clak!*
*Thunk*
Scout grinned. Perfect. Another bullseye, right on the Spy’s noggin. Well, his cardboard replica, anyway. Left a nice dent too.
He flipped his bat and effortlessly caught it. He didn’t get to use his Sandman that often. Not enough wide open spaces out in the field. That and the big crack in the middle was starting to worry him. Maybe Engie could help him with it. With some glue, or something whatever a bat would need other than the rubbery black tape that he totally didn’t steal from Medic.
As much as he would have liked to keep cracking skulls, he had to get some target practice in. He picked up the ball and went to set both it and the bat in his locker. From his other weapons, he settled on his regular pistol. No need to get all fancy, just a few shots. He punched the big green button that made the targets move. He wasn’t paid to shoot at stuff that stood still. Well, except the BLU Sniper.
He chambered a round and pointed it at the nearest target. Soldier's blue uniform caught his eye as he looked down the sight. He pointed the gun right under the helmet. He pulled the trigger and--
“ATTENTION MERCENARIES!”
“Gah!” Scout yelped as his wrist bent upward. He immediately ducked, worried about ricochet. Thankfully the bullet hit the back wall, firmly embedding itself in the concrete.
Scout rubbed his wrist, glaring at the loudspeaker above.
“PLEASE PROCEED TO THE BRIEFING ROOM IN TWENTY MINUTES. FAILURE TO ATTEND WILL RESULT IN THE IMMEDIATE TERMINATION OF YOUR CONTRACT.”
The intercom signal cut out.
Scout's anger gave way to curiosity. Whatever the Announcer was rushing them for had better be important.
He lightly jogged over to his locker and put the pistol back in. The plywood props of the opposing team ground to a halt, silently mocking him.
The conference room was a flurry of shouted laughter and conspiratorial whispers. Spy tried to keep up with all of their outlandish theories, but quickly abandoned that endeavor as soon as the conversations fractured off. He tipped some of his cigarette ashes into the tray and watched the clock, finger gently tapping on the slim folder on the table, guarding it near him.
“Only five minutes left now...” Engineer leaned in and whispered in Spy's direction. Pyro noticed and looked at Spy, expectant, as if the strange firebug ever even heard anything under that thick gasmask.
Spy averted his eyes from both of the goggled mercs. “Yes Engineer, I am well aware.” He loudly exhaled smoke through his nose.
“Hah! Let the lad be late!” laughed Demoman, having somehow caught wind of the conversation over the noise the others were making. “I was eyeing a nice villa in the Tuscan countryside anyway...” He rubbed his chin wistfully.
Spy raised an eyebrow, bemused. “Really now? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay at your mother’s house and weep over soap operas?”
Engineer stifled a brief laugh.
Demoman shook his head, still smiling. “Nah, if I’m gonna get fired again, I’m gonna actually make something of myself, fully enjoy it.”
Medic chimed in from across the table. “By the coast or more in-land?”
Spy was about to recommend the former when Engineer drew his attention again with an unsubtle cough. ”In all seriousness, shouldn’t we uhh… Go look for him? He might be lost. We don’t exactly hold conferences often.”
“He’ll find it eventually. If anything, his faster speed that he constantly brags about will make it easier to correct his many navigational mistakes, will it not?” Spy said.
Engineer winced. “Spy, at least… I don’t know, wave him down or something?”
Before Spy could even consider it, a booming voice rose from near the door. “Don’t worry, men! I will go outside this room and look for Scout! If I am not back by five minutes, tell Demoman that the property near Florence is cheaper than the coast and just as lovely!” Soldier waved a finger around and marched out the room.
It was Spy’s turn to rise from his chair, fingers straining on the table.
“You will do no such thing.” Spy sighed through bared teeth. “Sit back down.”
“I will do no such thing!” Soldier exclaimed proudly, leaning away from the door, into the hallway.
“Very well, now, if you could kindly come back to your seat--” Spy pleaded.
“I don't have to; he is right here!” Soldier grinned, as a very confused Scout rushed over and was grabbed by the shoulders. The disparate conversations united in scant cheering at Scout’s arrival and settled into relative silence.
“Come on in, son! Spy's about to tell us all about the beautiful sunny vineyards of southern Italy!”
Scout glared at Spy. “This better not be why we’re here…”
Spy returned the glare. The fact that Scout wasn’t even out of breath made Spy fume. “You are in no position to chide any of us, considering that your impeccable sense of direction nearly cost us all our jobs.”
Scout rolled his eyes. “It ain’t like we eat dinner here every night, Spy.” He pulled up a chair next to Soldier and kicked back his sneakers on the table.
Spy gritted his teeth. He heard some of the other mercs chuckle. “Scout, if you could please, for one second in your life--”
A very large and imploring hand stuck out between them.
“What matters…” Heavy’s voice rumbled “...is that we are all here. And that we can continue now.”
The other mercs looked at Spy. He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “Yes. Thank you, Heavy.” He picked up the folder and flicked it open slightly. “Legs off the table, if you please, Scout.”
Spy didn’t look up from the folder. A muffled laugh from Pyro and a clearer chuckle from Sniper suggested Scout opted to make a rude gesture instead.
“Now, gentlemen.” Spy flipped a corner of one of the documents, still hiding it from view. “You may be wondering why we are all here.”
“Nah mate, we’re just ‘ere for the fun of it,” Sniper bit back, still laughing, staring from under his shades.
“I think what he's getting at, Spy,” Engineer adjusted his helmet. “Is that we noticed that you seem to know what this whole meeting is about, and we don’t.”
Spy inhaled, surveying the room. “Fine. You want me to be blunt? Listen well, then.”
The other mercenaries leaned in closer, fully attentive. Soldier looked like he was going to fall on the table.
“In three days’ time, we shall be joined by another team of mercenaries.”
Everyone in the room loudly objected, all at the same time. Spy’s grip on the folder tightened. He raised his voice.
“Before you all accuse me of withholding this from you for who knows how long, I myself have only known about this for twenty minutes before the meeting.”
Demoman was the first to raise a question over the ruckus. “How’d you get the files, then?”
“In the mail, as we all do.”
“This will cause a bit of an upset, numerically speaking…” Medic mused. “Will the BLU team get nine additional recruits as well?”
“Good question.” Spy paused briefly to draw a breath of his cigarette. He delighted as Medic’s eye twitched at the smoke creeping out of his slightly grinning mouth.
“BLU is indeed to receive new recruits.” Spy held up a hand, dismissing incoming questions. He then splayed his hand on his chest, his tone flat and mocking. “You seem to have me backed into a corner today. In the face of such insurmountable adversity, I will admit to contacting my counterpart from the other team after scouring these documents.”
Sniper sneered. “He told you all this? Just like that? Not very Spy-like of him."
"Bushman, even ignoring the fact that he and I are literally the same person, he didn't have much to hide."
“What d’you mean?” Sniper asked.
Spy recounted his counterpart’s exact words over the phone. “By all accounts, Builders League United will be blessed in welcoming gifted scientists, dedicated public servants, and even a Nobel prize winner.”
The team let out a few good-natured jeers at BLU’s expense, followed by some insults of the hippie-hating persuasion coming from Soldier, despite him also literally mocking himself in a blue uniform.
“So uh… Who do we get?” Scout asked.
The room fell silent once more.
Spy drew out another puff of his cigarette. He slapped the folder in the center of the table. The other mercs gawked at some of the papers sliding out, but none deigned to touch anything yet. Scout at long last took his legs off the table to get a better look. The Frenchman let out a long smoke filled breath.
“Psychotic murderers with delusions of grandeur.”
“...And that’s how I got banned from ever entering the state of Vermont! You’d think the senator would have come to my aid, but no, he was too busy at a fundraiser for destitute acupuncturists...”
Ms Pauling nodded along blithely to the man recounting his own exploits, her professional, well-worn, tired grin straining under her mounting exasperation. Where the Administrator kept finding these sorts of people, she had no idea. Well, she did know, up to a point. She got this crop from either prestigious news publications or in high security penitentiaries. Sadly, the one sitting in front of her in the train cart prattling on about his misadventures to her was of the latter group.
She looked up for a moment, actually trying to listen to him. The theatrical hand gestures were still going strong.
“Now I, of course, wasn’t about to let something as foolish as a rhinoceros stop the assassination--”
“Uh, Starscream?” She interrupted, as politely as she could suffer. “It is ‘Starscream’, isn’t it?”
The sweeping hand motions came to an abrupt halt, and so did the story, dying with a short stuttering sigh.
“Sorry to derail this conversation, but we must--” A smile appeared on her face “Oh! Ha, ‘derail’! Because we’re on a train…” He stared at her, frowning.
She cleared her throat, “Yeah, so, Starscream, I don’t get many opportunities to come by the base, and my hands will be very full in the coming weeks. If you have any questions, it’s a good idea to ask them now.” She held her pen over her documents on the clipboard, at the ready.
The man leaned back on the slightly cushioned backrest, his frown now more one of contemplation. He hummed as he scratched at his wrapped hand.
“I did have some questions, actually. The contract mentioned something called a ‘respawn machine’. I am extremely skeptical of it. Does it… truly do as promised?” His voice was low and his eyes narrowed.
“It does!” Ms Pauling said proudly. “You’ll find out more about it once you get settled in, but yes, it will bring you back unharmed almost instantly.”
Starscream’s eyes widened. “It's real? But, how does it even--”
“Are you at all familiar with Australium?”
He raised his hands. “Oh, of course it runs on Australium." A sneer then accompanied his arms crossing. “Tell me, Ms Pauling, does it also yell about skinning a shark with only your teeth as you reshuffle the mortal coil?”
“Thankfully, no. TF Industries’ engineers saw fit to oversee much of its build themselves. I imagine part of the reason was to prevent, well, what you just said, or something even worse.” Ms Pauling’s voice went up a bit on her last words as the cart hit a bump in the rails. She adjusted her glasses. The ride was relatively smooth but there were a few rougher snags in the tracks as they approached the base.
Starscream winced at the noise but was otherwise unshaken. “Still, something that’s able to just bring people back?”
“Yup, sure does that. Pretty much every day.” She swept some stray hairs behind her ear.
A very large eyebrow went upward. “Dare I ask how much that would even cost?”
“You may not! But I can tell you that it’s way cheaper than looking for mercenaries every time they die permanently. And considering how often that happens, we’d have to go looking for a replacement every, oh…” She pressed her pen on her pursed lips. “Two minutes?”
Ms Pauling could have sworn she saw distress dawning on his face, if only for just a moment. He rapidly tried to mask that with a boast. “Well, yes, I suppose I’ll just have to get very good at avoiding occupational hazards then. It is what I was hired for.” The cart jostled briskly again, displacing his hand from his chest. He opted to cross them back.
“Yeah, about that, I was going to ask...” She used her pen to point down at his feet.
At the end of the mercenary’s knee high white socks was the suspect footwear. Completely black, save for the two white stripes on each of the insoles and the red trimming on the inner heel. All four inches of it.
“How exactly do you plan to run in those?” She eyed him quizzically.
Starscream scoffed, lifting one foot to the side. “I did pass the running test with them, didn’t I? I fail to see the problem.”
“I know you did, got the results right here.” She briefly showed him the clipboard. “But it’s one thing to pass a test and another to keep up with men half your age. Especially since none of them will be wearing...” She gestured again to his heels, the kindness to her voice dropped on that last remark, despite her best effort.
“Ms Pauling…” He growled, uncrossing his arms and resting a hand on each knee, head bowed forward. “If I recall correctly, these shoes are Mann Co.-made, are they not? Should I suddenly fail, the blame isn’t on me, isn’t it?” He was smirking, but his eyes were widened in frustration.
She was about to pursue in her objections, but she stilled herself. “Wait, they’re from Mann Co.?”
Starscream looked just as confused. “Well, for the price I had to pay, I certainly hope so.”
The assistant scowled slightly, whatever anger she held for this strange new recruit lamenting over his far too expensive shoes subsiding. All at once she felt only impotent contempt for the over-muscled and idiotic CEO of Mann Co, always pumping out new weapons and trinkets, each more ridiculous than the last. It made her wonder why the Administrator ever debased herself by even pretending to work for him. And it made her wonder why she went along with that whole plan for as long as she did.
Or what her whole plan even was.
Ms Pauling shook her head, clearing her thoughts, briskly waving a hand at the man. ”Fine, alright, keep the heels. It’s coming out of your paycheck anyway.” She tipped her glasses after yet another bump.
Starscream winced a bit, both at the implied price and the rough ride, she assumed, but was still smirking. “A sacrifice I am willing to make.”
“All of this just to look down on a few people?” She realized the double meaning of her accusation a bit too late.
The smile he shot back could have curdled honey. “Guilty as charged...”
An uneasy feeling washed over her. The feeling that no one above her knows what they’re doing, and that the ones below her will kill her in her sleep. All of them operating under their own unpredictable and perplexing whims. Business as usual, then. Her face once again tugged into a smile.
“So, any other questions?”
Starscream drew a breath, the very image of uptight, loathsome composure. This one in particular will be a handful, she thought to herself with dread. Thankfully, his conceited airs were completely shattered by a huge explosion in the distance, not too far from the base.
Ms Pauling barely flinched as the cart undertook its biggest tremor yet. She stifled a giggle at the man, now almost completely curled up in a ball on the seat. He peeked from under his arm to glance at the window behind him, from which a mushroom cloud could now be seen.
He managed to squeak out a reply. “I may have a few more inquiries, yes...”
