Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So what’re these bozos like?”

Approximately fifteen minutes past fifteen hundred hours, location: train cart. Departure area – Tuefort. Destination: classified. No, really. The train tracks rattled underneath, but the loudest noise resonated from a young man sitting at the furthest end of the cart, where the side-door had been slid open hallways to allow the brilliant desert sun to bask across the wooden floor.

At the other end, lurking in the shadows, were the rest of the group. The one cataloguing the minutes to this insipid journey’s end was the tall man in the balaclava lilting what had his fiftieth cigarette that morning. To his side was a lanky man who was slouched against the rumbling wall, clearly asleep, or somewhere close. His sunglasses slipped crookedly on his face with every bump.

Opposite him, idly adjusting the end of his glove and glancing at nothing in particular was a tall, broad-shouldered man with greying hair.

A giant with a matching sized gun sat beside him, to their left, an eye-patch wearing fellow with a reeking bottle in hand. In the corner, their head settled on their knees was...a person in a gas mask and suit.

Rounding up the mix—and-match ground was a stiff man with a helmet that obscured his face and another with goggles hiding his eyes, the shortest man in the cart by far.

Spy took a long drag on his cigarette, mentally preparing himself. “For zhe fifteenth time, Scout. We are unaware as of zis present moment.”

“Vitch is why you vere told to be quiet. So bitte...”

“But you’re a spy.” The young man said, ignoring the Medic’s input as if he’d never heard it, butchering the word ‘spy’. The Frenchman inhaled deeply. “You’re ‘sposed to know that kinda stuff!”

“All we know is there two new teams we will encounter. Maybe they are alley, maybe they are not.” Heavy drawled, his brow creasing slowly. Clearly, he was lasting longer than the rest of them patience-wise, but that wasn’t saying much. His glare held a blunt finality to it. “That is all we know.”

Scout snickered to himself; his one-track mind turning to whatever ‘amusing’ thought had sprinted through his brain, “Yello n’ Green. S’like they were tryin’ to compete with names too.”

“That is zhe general idea.” Spy returned, shortly. Hopefully this would be the last time the boy opened his mug.

“Fascinating.” Medic murmured, to everyone’s surprise, he’d taken the conversation’s reins. But this time no one seemed terribly annoyed. The young man scowled when he realised this. The German sat back, drawing a hand along his chin, a faint grin playing about his lips.

“From vhat I heard, mein Französisch Freund, their classes differ from our current arrangement.”

Scout, who was now dangling his legs dangerously off the side of the cart, threw up his hands, “I thought you said there was nothin’ else we knew!”

Spy didn’t reply, sucking in his lips as cigar smoke drifted sharply into the air.

“Can’t be all that diff’rent.”

Engineer had decided to put in his two scents, adjusting his goggles idly. “Maybe they’re exploring new areas. Turns out I heard somethin’ ‘bout ‘em, too. Green stands for...now what was it - General Relocation Enterprises & Electronics National.”

“The wot?” Demo had slipped out of his hangover just in time to hear that mouthful. Heavy was scowling, his slightly imperfect English hindering his understand for a split second –

“A transport company.” Spy elaborated flatly.

“Transport...” Scout muttered, gazing at the ceiling, apparently trying to come up with some shady implication. “Like, uh, smugglin’?”

“They’d be on the move more, then.” Engineer mused, sitting back crossing one leg over the other in a way Scout would most assuredly mock. “Doubt they’d have a Heavy.”

“That is their loss.” Heavy stated, a slight smile appearing on his face. “If they are like running scout, nine stomps and we win.”

“’ey! No fair –“

The cart stopped. Sniper’s head shot up, no pun intended, and he blinked blearily at his grinning teammates. His hat lay on his lap.

“Wot ‘appened?”

“We have arrived.” Spy patted the bushman on the shoulder, knocking his glasses askew completely, and striding to the door. Scout leaped out from the cart and landed on the dust below. Sniper scowled, half-asleep, at the departing Frenchman’s back.

They filed out at varied paces. Solider seconded Scout, of course, standing straight to attention outside the train and demanding the others do the same.

He was ignored.

The first thing Demo did was crack his back, take a swig of his drink, and then gawk at the landscape in front of him so suddenly that he almost bit the bottle in two.

The sound bounced off the walls.

They were in a canyon, tall walls and narrow spaces; dirt stained red and not-so unfamiliar. Structures made of mismatched metal and wood were built above with bridges linking them like a cat’s cradle, but despite the odd patterns there was a distinctly new look to it.

The land sloped here, definitely; the pace lay in a very deep broad canyons with little baby canyons within it. More buildings and galleries sat on the side, a lot of high-up foundations, longer than it was wide.

And below, a fight was in progress.

“Aw right, some action!”

Scout was kneeling by the edge of the canyon, and Spy resisted the urge to boot him off. He inhaled slowly on the end of his cigar, muttering under his breath.

“Bloody ‘ell.” Sniper materialised beside him, fixing his hat in place. The rest of the mercenaries lined up to watch from above. The two teams below were completely unawares.

Popping tints of yellow and contrasting shades of green ran about the playing field in the shape of people. Spy hadn’t seen so much green in a long time, curtsey of this barren wasteland in which he worked.

The green wasn’t a healthy colour, though, but a more chemical one, not like grass but like toxic waste...all save one, whose clothes resembled hospital wear in a strikingly eerie fashion.

A cart was being pushed along a metal track; a slope was fast approaching.

“That is sloppy battle tactics!”

Solider’s voice made them all jump after a prolonged silence. They gawked at him silently until he pointed to elaborate,

“Only one defender near that bomb, and some little stick-figure is trying to push that thing instead of scouting ahead! Stick men are scouts, that is the law of America!”

“Hey, what is this, kick-a-Scout day?”

“Do not temp me, garcon.”

“Holy crap!”

“Scout, he doesn’t mean it.” Engineer cut in, in a tone of voice that made him sound like a teacher who had broken up a fight one too many times. But Scout wasn’t fretting over the potential plummet, but pointing wildly down at the cart. Scout frowned, squinting through the sunlight. Solider was right – for once – the group below seemed a little sloppy. A short, but stocky and sturdy man who rather reminded him of Solider and wielding what looked like a body-sized Shield (as well as a riot mask and a large club littered with nails) was shouting orders at the cluster around him. Green Team.

He was barking orders at the ‘stick man’ Solider was referring to, and a stick-man it was, crouching behind the cart and peering around with madly wide eyes –

“Merde.” He breathed, “It is just a girl!”

“I know, right, it’s a girl on the field!”

“WOMEN ON THE BATTLEGROUND!?”

“Now don’t start there, Solider –“ Engineer began quickly –

But any argument over gender roles was obliterated when an explosion went off below. The Shield and the stick-man dove behind the cart...but the four other Greens standing around it were blasted apart.

Scout whooped, clearly impressed. “Damn!”

Sniper whistled lowly, “That was some shot.”

The Yellos stood up from behind their cover (an assortment of barrels, metal boxes and wire fences) and bellowed loudly in response. The girl and the stocky man remained ducked behind the cart.

“They don’t realise they survived.” Engineer was grinning slightly, “These guys just might make it.”

Ah, but not all the Greens nearby had been blasted apart. From a ditch nearby, another lean figure toppled into view towards the cart. Behind, the other Greens had respawned and were firing ahead – the chaos resumed.

The Shield bellowed at the newcomer, clearly ordering him to get behind the cart. Spy lowered his cigarette.

...What an eerie picture. A hospital outfit, the long shirt threaded loosely, the thin clothing and near-bare feet. Mobility-inducing, perhaps, but not much for defence...

...And a giant needle strapped to his forearm, a surgical mask, and various belts strung around his torso, leg and arms, containing medical supplies.

A bomb landed beside the lean figure, and he leaped towards the Shield. He seized the Stick-girl and the medical practitioner by the scruffs and dragged them behind his, well, shield.

BOOM.

“If he keeps babying those two they’ll never learn to put up with excruciating pain!” The Solider remarked – as in, bellowed above the resulting noise.

“They’re gettin’ pummelled.” Scout declared.

Pummelled they were.

Until another figure charged out, clad in...a green radiation suit, clutching something round and blinking in one hand –

One of the Yellos closest to them sprinted backwards, a black afro-haired man practically dripping with guns and holsters, “GAS! GET BA –“

Hsss.

Green chemicals erupted into the fray. The man fell face-down, his skin blistering violently. Scout reeled back, despite being a good way away, “ACK! What the hell was –“

“Chemical Veapons.” Medic said, grinning far too happily for his own good. “Vhat fun!”

“Zhat does not look very clean.” Spy commented, eyeing the murky ooze bubbling in the desert floor below. The cart was moving; the Rest of the Green Team had taken the chance to give it all their might.

For the next few seconds, the nine noticed a good few people –

Spy noticed a man crouching sneakily behind a high-fence and fiddling with some wires near the track – Yello, with a big hat and ranger-like clothing, but completely gloved forearms and a pudgy nose. Setting Traps.

Beside Trapper, kneeling also as the cart drew near, a man in an all-body suit, draped with dull yellow cloth. His face hidden, he was holding a pair of knives at the ready.

Sniper noticed him, too. “Ninja or somethin’?”

Scout noticed another woman. The same one Engineer noticed – both for different reasons. Scout noticed because he was Scout, and Engineer noticed because she moved up behind Yellos just like a spy.

Hooded, she lifted her hands, together – and something glinted merrily in the sunlight. Metal string.

A rather average man, dressed in baggy Yello clothes with noticeable fingerless gloves and various packs latched onto his body and his skin blistering due to overexposure to the sun (Man should’ve gotten himself some sun-block, those tan lines are going to earn him a good mocking) peered at the cart from afar.

The string hooked around his neck ,and his blond self was dragged backwards out of sight.

“Poor bastard.” Engineer lamented, quietly. Strangulation was no pleasant way to go. Even the worst spies he’d known had ended it quickly. Coming from him that was something.

Demo noticed the two guys – these lot went around in twos and threes, save for Mr Sunburn and Agent Strangle – creeping along higher ground on their stomachs. Green. One guy, with notable dreadlocks and white teeth, wielding devices he knew by experience were bomb-kits...and something that looked kinda like a sentry zapper.  He was fiddling with an antenna on the device, grinning at his friend cheerily – a guy dressed fairly like the Engineer, goggles and all, in dirty dungarees and honest-to-dogs sneakers instead of boots. This guy, however, was fairly younger, taller, and with a fall less pronounced smile.

“Check out the tech boys!” He said, nudging Engineer and Medic simultaneously, earning himself a good few looks. He gestured to the two.

The brunette in dungerees got to his knees, slowly, to avoid being seen, dragging a cable up behind him. A cable that went all the way down and out of sight.

Bomb Disposal Guy fiddled a bit more with the antenna, and then beamed again as it buzzed into motion.

Below, Trapper guy leaped back from the tracks. Whatever boobies he’d been setting up had short-circuited, blowing his...hands off.

“Gotta say, that’s some good work there.” Engineer noted...but then the Ninja materialised behind the two grinning chums –

- And promptly sliced their heads off with a katana.

The mercenaries gave a simultaneous groan.

“Zhat is why you watch your back.” Spy noticed, smirking offhandedly and waving his cigar about.

A large crate smashed into the cart.

“Holy –“ Scout leaned back like a kid watching a wrestling match.

Or rather, a Sumo wrestling match. Because that’s exactly who threw the giant box. Dressed in clean golden and brown clothing, and rivalling Heavy in size (but appearing more mass than muscle) was a very large Asian man with dark, silky hair tied neatly up on his head. He was totally unarmed, and stoic.

Beside him, Burnt-Guy appeared, grinning vilely.

“Just what is that little rat’s profession anyway?” Medic said, voicing all of their dislike.

“Whoa, man, he’s almost as big as you, fatty!”

“I beat him in arm-wrestle, anytime.” Heavy stated, less challenged than Scout would’ve hoped. He eyed the large man neutrally, “We shall see if he is a good rival later.”

The Sumo Wrestler peered quietly at a man who came rushing up; another dark-skinned man with short, cropped curls and completely laden with swords.

He punched him under the chin and sent him flying.

“OOoh, critical hit!”

“Dumb mungo, why’d he got straight on?”

Someone, closer to them by far, was climbing onto a higher gallery in the canyons. The nine mercenaries went silent, like bird watchers spotting a sparrow.

The figure was small, with slightly tanned skin – signalling, perhaps, a mixed heritages. Straight black hair hung to his chin, covering his face. A large cowboy hat shaded his eyes.

A bundle of arrows sat on his back, a bow in his hands.

Sniper’s brows flew up.

“That’s just a kid!” He hissed. Spy didn’t need telling, his mouth hanging open slightly.

“...Zis is...”

The boy, his face blank, took aim.

Soldier was scowling, and for once, just because everyone else was doing it, he kept his voice down, “Never bring a boy to a man’s war!”

The boy let the arrow fly.

The Sumo man dropped.

For a moment, the boy smiled, faintly, his hand still raised. Sniper’s lip curled, “Gotta hand it to the kid, that was pretty well...”

The Ninja appeared silently behind the boy, and the mercenaries went silent. Without so much a moment’s hesitation, his hand seized the boy’s jaw, covering his mouth –

And the other dove his blade right through his chest from behind.

The boy gave a muffled cry, and dropped.

The Ninja leaped off the canyon ledge, hopping back down it the fray without looking back. The boy shifted slightly.

“...’es still alive.” Engineer murmured, his voice empty.

Not for another moment, though. The boy’s body vanished.

“They killed ‘im!” Scout said, his hands lifted above his head, “He’s – just a kid, what the hell, man –“

“These men are brutal and sloppy. Dunno if that’s a good combination.”  Engineer lamented.

He spoke too soon.

Unbeknownst to them, Pyro had been watching the other Medic in the strange hospital clothes.

He’d seen the attack. He climbed up onto one of the buildings, and leaped off. The mercenaries attention locked onto him as he landed on the tip of the tall wire fence, then leaped again – right onto the Ninja’s departing back. His arm flew back and he dove the needle right into the back of his neck.

The man’s shriek reached them over the canyon floor.

“NURSE – “

The Nurse raised his head and leaped away from the body, sprinting back towards the cart.

“YOU FAILED!”

The Administrator’s voice blasted over the speakers, and the mercenaries knew what came next. The Yellos whooped, and surged out from their cover.

The Greens ran for it.

“Ah, there you are!”

The nine spun around in comical unison. Miss Pauling stood, clipboard in hand, decidedly ignoring their verifying degrees of surprise.

“I see you’ve gotten acquainted. That’s good. These guys need some expert involvement.”

...

TOP SECRET FILES. SIGNED BY {BLANK}

The Green Team:

BEANPOLES

LETTUCE  GUYS

PEAS IN A POD

General Relocation Enterprises & Electronics National

thats a dumb name

totally not written by scou t

Support:

The Carrier:

The light-weight member of the group, and one of the only female on field workers, the Carrier acts as the Scout Counterpart in Operation Opposition. A Scottish gymnastic career tapered by low-income, the only daughter of a large family went into the business as she felt there was no other option that wasn’t already taken. Jittery as a mouse but just as hard to catch and out-manoeuvre, the Carrier makes sure communication and supplies between lines are kept in contact and open on the field.

Her emblem is a package, tied in a string.

what the hell im not a girl how can she be counter-whatever

The Agent:

This woman hails from an undefined part of Britain, and her job mirrors that of the spy and the scout combined. She maps out the land, keeps tabs on the opposite team and relays their attics, making it hard for any long-term position to be kept. Like the spy she relies on stealth and carries knives for silent effect. Always hooded. Not much is known about her, but she draws into her thirties, and is good friends with her fellow female members, but is very dignified.

Her emblem is a single spy mask.

stay away from my neck lady

The Nurse:

The Nurse was adopted in the English Countryside, but his origins trace back to Berlin. A top-gearing medical student, he uses his syringe and needles to heal up wounds as well as maim. Frightening despite his skinny posture, this masked young man seldom allows his face to be seen during a match. Despite this, he is friendly and jubilant around his teammates, and plays the harp. The Nurse’s job is almost identical to the medics – in fact a lot of things about him are said to be identical to the medic.

His emblem is a large needle crossed with a line of twitches.

get those needles away, also, you look dumb wearing those clothes

Defensive:

Bomb Disposal Expert/ Saboteur

Coined as an exact parry to the Demo-Man, almost as much as the Mechanic, this tall former army-man works to not only disable bombs, but to take out weaponry and disable any non-human threat made to his teammates. This has led to him being dubbed the ‘Hacker’ or the ‘Saboteur’. Cheery Care-free, he doesn't seem to take his job too seriously.

Born in an undefined area around Washington, he resembles your typical army figure. He even has a collection.

His emblem is a pair of scissors, cutting a wire.

THIS DREADLOCK UDE HILARIOUS WHEN DEMO BLOWS HIM UP

The Mechanic

Contrary to belief, the mechanic and engineer differ. As the Green Team works on the move and rarely stays in one place, the Mechanic has no time to set up sentries and dispensers. Therefore, this man from Sweden works on-the-go; he builds guns, repairs all the Demo-man destroys – and acts as the designated driver/transport. The Mechanic carries a tool box half his size and rarely speaks or smiles, he remains aloof, and does what needs to be done in quick, robotic manner. This leads to some theories about his habits and psyche, but he mentions nothing of it. He understands little English, and is almost illiterate – but he knows enough phrases as he needs, and is literate in all things mechanical. No-nonsense, this guy takes his jobs seriously, perhaps too much, as he’s called a spoilsport by some.

His emblem is a Nut and Bolt.

Like Engie but Taller 'n angier. Tall angry engie.

The Shield

Another case of exactly what is says on the tin. A stout pale man in sturdy boots hailing from Poland, the Shield is a defender. He defends, and that’s about it. Slightly paranoid and always high-strung, this guy is hard to be around but impossible not to be around. He carries three different things; a riot shield as big as himself; smaller titanium circular shield for better locomotion, and a large police baton to bonk you on the head. Clad in typical riot gear.

His primary focus is on the Nurse, and other support in need of defending. Touch those guys and you will no longer retain a functioning jaw.

His emblem is a brick wall.

he is also boring

Offensive –

The Warrior:

An attacker in every sense of the world, on this speedy group his job is to do this: Attack, kill, destroy. Maim all in his path. Wielding rifles, shotguns and a traditional long sword, this Jamaican is a force to be reckoned with. Close range is his range; he shoots first, cuts second, asks questions later. Loud, boisterous and up for a good match, he has a genuine sportsmanship personality to him.

Whats that hairdo called now what

Chemical Weapons Expert:

Nothing is more frightening than someone that works with gas, chemical warfare and other deadly substances. Clad in a bright green radiation suit, you best keep away from her. Another one of the females on the team, a forty-something woman hailing from Lithuania, she acts as mother of the group, and is usually seen defending the carrier...and horribly maiming the other team. Do not cross this woman, she’ll tie you knots. Known as ‘The Chemic’ for short.

this lady can go to hell

is bonk a gas

The Archer:

Exactly what it says on the tin. One of the youngest ever mercenaries to live, this French-Spanish boy born by the beaches of the South of France was hired partly because of a test; the Administrator wanted to see if the other mercenaries could stomach hurting someone so small and young-looking, younger than his actual age. At first, this did jar them – until he started shooting eyes out with cross-bows. Usually sticking close to his fellow youth, the Carrier and Nurse, instead of support like his counterpart the Sniper, the Archer joins his long-range attacks to Warrior’s close-range, and attacks on the field. Moody and quiet and always wearing shades.

He lets his teammates ‘borrow’ ammo by passing them on through Carrier.

ha i ain't the youngest

scout is handsomer though, logged fact

The Yellow Team: Yearly Extractors of Landfill, Lode and Ore

BANANAS 

Offensive:

INFORMATION UNAVAILABLE. DOG ATE THE PAPERS. WAS NOT SCOUT'S FAULT.

Defensive:

The Tank

The Tank carries things. Big boxes, big weapons, car parts. But instead of using them like the Heavy, the Tank uses his fists. Once a sumo-wrestler, he isn’t about to let down his fists now. This man is a giant, but gentle, and with a high moral code. He talks often, and tries to be helpful, but he will crush your neck and flip you one-eighty if you get near.

It takes a lot to take him down, and while people are busy doing this, others wear them down. He is literally both a defender, and a way of focusing most of the enemy players.

He works to improvise. Anything can be tossed, people included.

HE also works to eat a whole ton of -

DEFENSIVE CLASSES 2&3 INFORMATION UNAVAILABLE 

The Support

The Trapper

This lanky man is not to be crossed. He booby-traps the area, sets decoys and trips wires. Far too enjoying of his work, this surly south-American holds no mercy and no hold-back. He’s hard to find, and his traps more so – only his team are savvy to the clues. Sadistic and up for a joke, the Trapper aims to slow you down, and he will if you don’t keep alert at all times.

His emblem is a mousetrap.

He can also stop leaving bear-traps out from scouts. Now.

The Ninja:

Wearing an all-body suit so he resembles a Ninja, this man is hardly seen uncovered. He works in parkour, climbing and scaling high buildings without issue. He carts around a katana as well as an old fashioned dagger. His job is surprise attacks and scouting out territories. He holds a dry wit and a sharp vengeance.

His emblem is, oddly, a ribbon and a dagger.

The Thief

Ammo and weapons aren’t always easy to find, so it’s the Thief’s job to nick it off the enemy team. He does little else but fill up space and then leave it behind. Literally. 

He also needs a shower.

Offensive:

The Runner

Distraction is this guy’s forte. He works to sabotage the other team, scout ahead as the counterpart to the namesake of such a job, and keep messages between teammates flowing. Tall and lean, this american dude knows his stuff, and takes pleasure in tripping people up.

His emblem is a lightning bolt.

He is in no way superior to Scout in any way.

HE IS DUMB.

The Gunman

This aborigine-descendent doesn’t just carry guns. He carries guns that fire at a quickened rate; he carries the ones that don’t let up, the machine guns, the fast guns, the guns that’ll pelt you into the ground like a monsoon on a carrot. Slightly zealous and prone to overkill, this guy knows no bounds, and has weapons hanging on him like a Christmas trees has pretty little bobbles. He especially likes the big-guns, though they slow him down. He may not be a heavy, but he’s certainly fond of weapons.

 ANY INFORMATION MISSING ON TEAM BANANA YELLO IS NOT THE DOING OF SCOUT.

Chapter Text

They filed out after Pauling, finding themselves scaling a long set of rocky stairs, sliced into the canyon slope itself. Sniper had to keep adjusting his hat on the way down; the way the steps were spaced had them bobbing comically, and it didn’t do well for the various weapons they were carrying. Scout had already tripped twice on the narrow steps, knocking into Spy who tried to shove him further down to his doom, until they were interrupted by Heavy’s glare.

He mulled over what he’d seen. The boy would be fine after a little respawn, but he wondered what the higher-ups were playing at, bringing him in. Kid was a good shot, but he drew the line at Scout – twenty three wasn’t enough.

Spy seemed to share these thoughts, though it wasn’t any amount of compassion, and more of intrigue at the tactic. “Tell me, bushman, when did you first learn to fire a gun?”

“Australian outback.” Spy saw the Sniper’s piercing gaze out of the corner of his eye. “I learned early, and I bloody improved early.”

“Hmm.”

“All right, this is the Cuttle Canyon Rendezvous base.” Pauling’s voice came drifting out to them. At the bottom of the canyon at last they found a tall, square-shaped building right smack in the centre, further away from the battlefield. Her nose wrinkled, “The teams call it the referee base, since it doesn’t technically belong to either of them. Supplies are handed out equally.”

Inside was a rather typical design, though this area of the company seemed hell-bent on adding galleries, floors and bridges above, creating a complicated network. Scout dropped his duffle-back down instantly, stretching,

“Man, they ain’t got air conditionin’ installed or nothing’?”

Miss Pauling ignored him, peering at her click board, “Uhh, your rooms are on that map over there and I’ll give you your briefing –“

She was cut off by the shh of a thin garage door nearby. A tall, skinny man had wandered in, and stopped short like a deer caught in the headlights upon seeing eight and a half pairs of eyes peering at him under the stark lamp light.

The Spy was quick to note some things, the calloused hands but un-tanned body, the long tank-top and baggy sleeves, high collar and pants that were belted all the way up around his waist. Something about his clear eyes and skinny frame reminded him starkly of Sniper – but there was something decidedly soft about this thirty-something man that any other resemblance was cut short.

He stared at them apprehensively, not saying a word, holding some kind of rag in his hand. His lip was slightly bloodied.

“Ah, Mr Cover.” Miss Pauling quipped, catching sight of him after finally looking away from her notes, “These are the RED Team members I told you about.”

Scout’s brow furrowed instantly at the idea of Miss Pauling speaking to another guy, though it was more likely she’d addressed the whole of the YELLO Team. Cover nodded slowly.

“Cat got your tongue, mate?” Sniper said, his voice oddly reproachful. The resemblance wasn’t lost on him either.

Demo and Engineer were far more welcoming. The former waved drunkenly, grinning sharply, and Engineer took off his hat and held out a hand.

The Cover shook it blearily. He seemed half-dazed. Maybe that nosebleed was due to a good whack to the head.

“’Ey so do you drag blankets around?” Scout called, smirking in a way that would make any good man want to punch him. But the Cover simply stared at him as if he hadn’t understood.

He opened his mouth and the whole team chipped their attention in.

“ I –“

“There you are, friend, I was wondering – oh.”

A strong, decidedly confident voice tore through the air. Another man had waltzed in, a dark skinned, sharp-cheekbone gentleman in a long-sleeved coat, high boots and a feather perched on his hat. His hair, tied in a plait, told his heritage all too well. He eyed the group without much friendliness, but no malice either.

“Ranger.” Pauling said, plainly, “These are the –“

“Reds, I understand.” The native American man held out his hand to the nearest person – that being Engineer – and grinned straight teeth. “Pleasure.”

“Much abridged.” Engineer returned carefully.

The Ranger placed his hand on the Cover’s shoulder, leading him off a bit, grinning carelessly at the group all the way, “Me and Cover were just heading up for supplies. We had a nasty...disagreement with the other Team after-battle.”

“I see.” Miss Pauling adjusted her classes with only a little sourness, “You understand their objective here?”

“Perfectly.” The Ranger glanced back at them, eyes sharp. “We look forward to seeing you on the field.”

He ushered Cover into the staircase nearby. The quiet man peered back at them uncertainly.

“Funny pair.” Engineer drawled slowly.

“There have been...tension within the teams, they’ve taken to pairing up. More so than you guys.” Pauling turned towards them, her attention suddenly sealing itself on them, “It isn’t just quarrelling. You guys know when to cut the crap and get to work, but YELLO barely works together, and if they do its just luck. They think that because they have a better standing than GREEN, they don’t need tactics.”

“So you vant us to give zhem a reality check.”

The Medic was grinning slightly, and Scout shifted away from him a quietly as he could. Pauling nodded once.

“And toughen up those pansy lettuce-eating GREENS!” Soldier added loudly, a finger high in the air. The administrator’s assistant allowed her lip to curl a little, sheepish.

“Well, that’s the basic idea. Their co-operation is splendid but they’re not measuring up in the offensive.”

“Maybe bringin’ a bunch of kids onto the battlefield ‘ill do that.”

Pauling didn’t flinch or back down when faced with Sniper’s lofty comment. “I don’t make the rules. The only one of concern in that department is the Archer, and his contract is... a special case. The others are all over the age of twenty and allowed to participate.”

“I’ll go settle in, then,” Demo proclaimed, sauntering towards the map, though he’d have a hard time making out the directions, “We were travellen’ at the crack ‘a dawn.”

“You guys do that.” Pauling was making her way towards the stairs. She gave them a pointed look, pausing with one hand on the banister.

“Remember – their contracts differ from yours. Keep an eye on Yello.”

Her eyes lingered on Spy before she departed.

...

Why the company felt the need to have all-attendance dinners at a less-than spacious table was beyond the Spy. Theirs was brief, and Pauling returned to lead them to the GREEN base soon after. She didn’t explain why, but she had a reason, he could tell by the way she kept her eyes ahead and didn’t glance once at her notes. He couldn’t fathom her reasons.

The rest of his comrades were just as lost for clues as he was, and it wasn’t a position he liked to share with them. He followed her begrudgingly into the GREEN Base; like their clothing it gave off a very hospital-like feel to begin with, with squeaky floors, a sterilized smell that made Scout act twitchy and long hallways.

The base, for the most part, was dimly lit. Scout broke the silence halfway in, “Hey, Miss Pauling, whadda we doin’ here anyway?”

“The Administrator wants you to meet the Greens in person.” Miss Pauling said, plainly, and elaborating on nothing. Spy quirked a brow,

“Just zhe verts?”

“Yes.”

Scout opened his mouth, but thankfully the Engineer sent him a sharp look, and he shut his buck-toothed maw.

Spy took this moment to survey his teammates, in varying states of suspicion. Sniper’s shades made it hard to tell what he was thinking, but his jaw was oddly set. Heavy was glancing around the odd-smelling halls with a frown, Medic with more scrutiny, eyeing the doors as if trying to glimpse within the blind-covered windows in each row. He was probably familiar with such a place.

Scout’s gait could be described as hopping more than walking. Engineer kept his eyes ahead, thinking hard. For once, the Demoman seemed alert, glancing around corners. He, out of all of them, looked out-of-place in such a quiet, tidy setting.

The sound of their footsteps echoing through the quiet was getting tense.

The hospital-like areas faded, however, further in the walls became wooden, less formal, and the sweet aroma of gravy and mashed potatoes drifted towards them.

Their footsteps became less pronounced.

There was a door, a single, normal-looking door ahead, with gleaming, hearty light brimming around the edges.

Before any of them could begin to enquire further, a voice cut through the air, muffled by the door ahead. Instantly, the team tuned into the conversation. Scout leaned forward.

“...Some gravy, and more chicken and vegetables, I think – you were looking peaky on the field, Carrier, and Archer, a healthy diet helps with healing –“

“Come off it, Shield, I’m fine. Respawn took it all away.”

“Long-term health is different – Mechanic, Saboteur, pass the salad. Hotch! Hotch, bring the juice while you’re at it!”

Miss Pauling, to the team’s surprise, didn’t announce their presence. She simply put her hand on the door and pushed.

It opened with a creek.

Bright but limited lights illuminated a table, as if the power had gone out and they were using battery-powered lamps. Though the surface and people were well-lit, everything else was rather dark. The table was covered with plates of food; a jug of gravy lay messy and half-empty in the corner; dishes of chicken, vegetables and mashed potato lined in the middle.

The pale, stout but bulky man they’d viewed earlier was piling an extra helping onto the youngest team member’s plates with dogged determination, a frown upon his clammy face. He was still dressed in his clean, pale green coat. He paused, still holding a ladle filled with mash, as they walked in. His face froze, pale eyes stiff. “...”

The Carrier, who had been about to obtain that extra helping, was staring at them in shock. The Saboteur had been grinning behind a mountain-like pile of mash on his plate, which he seemed to have arranged into a barricade. His grin faltered when he saw them, his laugh dying off. He’d been in the midst of a conversation with the Mechanic, who stared at them silently over his cup of juice. Even the Saboteur’s dreadlocks had gone still.

The Warrior, with darker skin yet but tidier hair, had been shovelling carrots into his mouth when he spotted them, and froze mid-chew.

A woman sat on his other side, back straight, and this new face drew the attention of all the team – mainly Scout, who hadn’t seen another woman other than Pauling, Agent and the Carrier in at least six months. Far from similar, her hair was a grey shade of black with vein-like lines of white spreading from the roots, tied in a semi-neat knot at the back of her neck. Her uniform was simple, and it was clear she’d already removed a great deal – the Chemic they’d seen mangling enemies with chemical gas earlier sat before them, her lips in a thin line and her eyes narrowed.

There was another woman, lazing at the far end, who was staring in a manner that suggested surprise, but not enough to make her loose her composure. It was verging on scandalised, as if some hooligans had barged into her living room. Her red lips were pursed, her rather thin eyebrows quirked. The Agent, who had strangled a man with her painted nails. She was about the same age as the Chemic, far older than the poor, pale-faced Carrier.

Someone was missing, the Spy mused, glancing around each of their faces, verging from alarmed to slightly startled.

The Shield straightened up, placing the ladle down. Saboteur glanced at his comrades, as if wondering if they had an explanation for this.

The group stared at each of the REDS in turn.

“Green Team.” Miss Pauling said, her tone blank and even, business-like. “These are the REDs.”

She gestured, redundantly, behind her.

The Carrier swallowed, her hands on her lap, and stared down at her plate. Archer dug his spoon into his mash with growing force, not breaking eye contact.

Shield flexed his hands, looking each mercenary in the eye. When he got to Engineer, the Texan smiled placating and held up his hands, “Ain’t the place to fight, partner. We’re all employees together at the moment.”

“Why are they here?” The Carrier whispered. However, in such a quiet room a whisper may as well be a shout. She looked away again once she realised she’d drawn everyone’s attention, staring at the table until her eyes stung. Pauling’s voice was a flat and professional as always.

“The administrator thought it best you get acquainted – they’ll be acting as your opposition.”

“Here to break us in. Carrier, Archer, out of the room, to the dorms.” The Shield said, stepping forward, pale eyes swerving on each of them. Engineer stared back, a half-grin still playing about his lips.

“Easy there, Papa Wolf, no one’s here to hurt nobody.”

“I notice.” Spy cut in, drawing all attention back to himself as Heavy and Medic shuffled further in, “Zhat you have a very slight accent, hardly noticeable – congratulations.”

“Polish.” The Shield said, flatly, as if he was expecting some backlash, and waiting for it. Though why they couldn’t fathom. Soldier huffed,

“I scaled Poland in bare feet and a shredded shirt, killing damn krauts and tearing up bases!”

The Shield watched him apprehensively, though without fear. He had a very alert stare about him. “...I did not hear of that. I was busy.”

“Doin’ what, immigratin’?” Scout grinned, earning himself a scowl from the man. Then he glanced away from the young hooligan, over the rest of the mercenaries now that the group had stepped further into the light –

He took in Sniper, Heavy and Demo with a stern, studying gaze.

“They’ll be running through a trial match with you tomorrow,” Pauling said in the meantime, glancing at her clipboard, “Hopefully, you’ll shape up in time for your next meeting with YELLO.”

“Vell now, zhat sounds rather ambitious.” Medic chuckled.

“YELLO will be receiving –“

But the GREENS were no longer looking at Pauling. No, they were all staring at the Medic, now that he was in the light. The doctor adjusted the cuff of his jacket, his expression reproachful, as every pair of eyes in the team ogled at him. Now the Archer seemed caught off guard. Carrier’s jaw was even hanging open.

Saboteur ducked away, as if he were about to mutter to his Mechanic friend – but Shield cut him off.

He spoke slowly, not taking his eyes off Medic. He held up a hand to the others, and they all looked away awkwardly. “Uh...better get a move on, Carrier, Archer, er – tell Nurse that we won’t need any more juice.”

The two youngest members of the green team stood up and hurried into the kitchen adjoining the dining area, hidden in shadow.

“Don’ worry, this kraut’s on our side.” Soldier said, rather flatly. Medic glanced at him in a less than kindly way. He was used to being stared at with unease – but all of them had gawked at him as if they’d seen a ghost.

The German focused his slightly colder gaze on the Shield, and smiled a little. The effect of the shadows didn’t help his tone. “Is zhere a problem, herr Shield?”

The man didn’t flinch. “No, Doctor. Not at all.”

Pauling turned, watching the man stiffly, and began striding back to the door, giving the REDS a gesture to follow.

Saboteur, Mechanic, Chemic, Agent and Warrior – who had done nothing, not even swallow his mouthful of carrots, stared at them as they left. Sniper’s nose wrinkled,

“’Ello to you too, jumpies.”

The door closed. As Pauling led them away, snippets of the conversation that broke out seconds after the door shut drifted after them. She acted as if she couldn’t hear.

“...What the hell?”

“ ...See that...?”

“...Keep an eye on him – “

“...What do you think -?”

“His face...!”

Medic let out a huff breath through his nose, “I did not even smile at them to begin with, really.”

“Maybe they heard’ about that bone saw o’ yours.” Scout said, bounding on ahead, hands behind his ruffled skull. “No offense, man, you’re kinda scary.”

“Ve are all scary.” Spy cut in, shortly, catching all of their attentions. All heads swerved expectantly to him. He took a moment before going on, “Zhis was the point of this entire meeting. We are here to rattle them.”

It was genius, really, he thought, eyeing the back of Pauling’s head. Bringing them in during dinner, when they were all calm, in their comfort zones, their guard down. Happily joking and drinking juice with friends, when the people who have been brought in to murder you appear in your midst, clad in blood-red colours.

“Zhey are soft, even if some of them do not know it.” Spy finished, finally.

“I don’ know, Spy.” Engineer drawled, “That Chemic woman and the Shield looked capable enough.”

“They cannot carry entire team.” Heavy had spoken at last, his frown more pronounced than his ever-present resting scowl. He seemed perturbed by the incident. He clearly saw no challenge anywhere at that table, “They are like normal people, less like us, and surrounded by babies. That girl, that boy, the little Nurse – they will not last.”

“That Nurse, the guy with the needle? Did you freakin’ see him leap off that building and skewer that guy?” Scout called back, incredulous.

“He was zhe one absent from the table.” Spy noted, more to himself that anyone else. “But I agree with the Russian. That attack was lucky, the Ninja let his guard down with five seconds left in zhe match.”

“Little Nurse will snap like twig.” Heavy finished, flatly. Medic’s smile returned, fully formed,

“Vell, we shall see if my medical skills can be challenged, ja?”

But judging by the sheer glitter in his eyes, Spy could tell he didn’t mean handing out aspirin.

MISSING YELLO CLASS FILES.

DEFENSIVE CLASSES 2& 3

The Cover

Though the archer takes care of long-range attacks and seems to act as the Sniper’s counterpart, the true bearer of that title is the Cover. This man’s main duty is to protect and keep other teammates safe, especially intelligence carries, support classes (Nurse, Carrier) though his focus varies. The Cover is always clad in thick uniform, with a notable high-collar coat to keep his face shielded from the wind and sunlight. He carries a large pair of binoculars, sniper rifles, crossbows and other long-range weapons, but can be close by his ward should the need occur. He locates places that can be used as natural defence.

A quiet and nervous man, Cover was descended from New Zealand immigrants, sporting a tall frame, clear eyes and long brown hair tied by in a plate. Compared to his teammates, he is rather gentle.

His emblem is a pair of binoculars with a rifle behind it.

The Radioman

With the Administrator noticing the lack of co-operation and unity of some teams, she personally enlisted this class to keep communication open – with more ease than the Carrier, who has to dart between people on the field.

Nicknamed ‘The Chatbox’ this twenty-five year old half-Vietnamese man (unluckily for him, living in America at the time and fleeing the tensions of war) relays the goings-on. He has little to no offensive power, and but a few things to defend himself – his radio to call for help, a tazer and a pistol.

Chat-Box hangs out in high places and generally keeps out of sight, sneaking around. During matches, he’s almost never seen. If one sees this guy, he is killed instantly, and plans have to be re-evaluated, as he’ll have quickly ratted you out.

His emblem is an antenna surrounded by wave lengths.

OFFENSE CLASS 3

The Ranger

One of the more decent members of the Yello Team, the Ranger carries more melee weapons than his comrade the Gunman. The Ranger’s job is to go on ahead, destroy any enemy constructs, seek out Mechanic’s aid (and Engineer Nests) and take them down. He usually maps out the place alone and refers back with the help of the Thief, whom he dislikes. Ranger is Native-American, and very laid-back and chummy. Out-of-work, he’s almost always seen with Cover, though this may be to protect the poor guy from the less pleasant members of their group.

He carries a metal spear, bolas and a rifle.

His emblem is a feathered hat and a spear.

Chapter Text

The teams were due to face each other the very next morning, eight sharp. No, not PM. The Medic hoped for their sake that this was long enough for them to digest their apple juice and mashed potato meal. There appeared to be more shade in this elongated canyon that morning, but with a squinted glare he found it did nothing to lessen the heat. He and his team would be acting as defence – stop the cart, as usual. If the Greens were anything like the BLUS, This day would play at as normal.

Only it wouldn’t be, would it? This was an entirely new system, new opportunities. Part of him was rather excited; seasoned mayhem hadn’t stolen the thrill of the new from him yet.

He adjusted his glasses once, adjusted his medigun, as the Administrator announced ten seconds to go.

Hidden in the barracks behind metallic doors lay the Greens; their figures just visible through the criss-cross patterns. A skinny one in a surgical mask peered back at him – then hopped out of sight like a started mouse. “Hmph.”

“One.”

Soldier and Demo open fired; the usual onslaught of every first second. The Greens had the sense to avoid jumping out the moment the door opened. That was a beginner’s mistake, but wait too long and you wouldn’t get out of the barracks at all. That happened once, to the Blus; they’d all taken a leaf from Sniper’s book and remained outside the doors, blasting anyone who attempted to get a toe’s length out.

While Solider and Demo reloaded, the Warrior came speeding out, but he didn’t push the cart; instead he cut around and lifted his sword, yelling some wordless battle-cry. Heavy, a few steps ahead of the good doctor, totted his gun, taking aim.

The Shield and Carrier appeared then, ducking behind the cart and beginning the push. Solider came zooming in from above, parachute descending, boot out to kick –

Shield lifted his namesake defence and blocked the man’s foot with a loud ‘clang’. Solider kicked off the metallic shield and landed some feet back, whipping out his shovel. He swung at the shorter man; he ducked, catching the military man in the chin.

Saboteur and Mechanic appeared next, throwing themselves at the cart. Heavy took this moment to intervene.

He flicked the pre-shooting mechanism on his weapon and the telltale whirl rang into the air. Medic followed close behind.

Medic allowed a grin at the Carrier and Saboteur’s wide-eyed looks.

“Run, cowards!”

They actually abided by Heavy’s advice, and the team scattered like roaches as he rained a thousand bullets upon the cart’s immediate area. One stray bullet hit the Shield, his legs buckled and he gave a bark of pain. The Medic hummed lowly; that was a tendon snapping under the bullet’s assault, he could almost hear it. Solider dove his shovel right into the Polish man’s neck – and he went down, blood spurting violently from his lips.

Carrier gave a squeal, ducking away. Saboteur sucked in air through his teeth and shoved her onward, out of the way, and she broke into a sprint.

“Shield Down –“

CRACK

In a second, the rest of the team had descended upon the Greens. Scout appeared over the cart, striking Saboteur in the teeth and knocking him back. Mechanic found himself being set upon by Solider next; Warrior had taken on Heavy, and after getting a good slash in (agility over mass) Heavy’s tirade of bullets took him down. There was a yelp as the Chemic appeared in her full-body suit, and an even bigger yelp as the Pyro added themself to the fray.

Fire blasted through the air; so did stinging clouds of gas – Medic and Heavy drew back, and if the others had any sense, they would, too –

“AAARGH –“

Heavy’s roar charred Medic out of his disdainful thought. An arrow had pierced the man’s calf like it was a marshmallow. Cursing, he stooped down, wrenched the arrow out, and set the medigun to work. Heavy knelt on his other leg, growling violently in his native tongue.

Medic finished his work in quick time, and raised his head. The boy with the bow was crouching behind the cart, holding his weapon taught. He stood up, clearly about to lose another when –

“BONK!”

Scout struck his arms, knocking the weapon away and throwing the youth off his feet. “Too slow, Shorty!”

The next moment, the hat-wearing teen had leaped onto the Scout’s back, hooked his legs, and stayed strapped there like a monkey, scowling in a comically serious way, lips in a harsh line, as the runner fought in vain to get him off. “Wha – ‘Ey! HEY! GEROFF ME – SNIPES, DO –“

Saboteur let out a yell and toppled – backstabbed, no doubt, as it seemed no one was standing in his vicinity during the time of his death. His friend, the Mechanic, had just met his grim demise at the hand of the Sniper, after chopping off the Soldier’s hand.

Warrior had respawned, and he came charging out with a vengeance. He swiped at Solider, taking off his other arm – and when Pyro came at him, to his credit, he put up a good fight before the flames and Heavy’s bullets took him down.

“I almost feel sorry for zhem.” Medic called cheerily, as Heavy added a dozen more rounds into the crowd below. The Russian gave a curt laugh.

Shield was back, too, behind the cart – which was moving. Sniper had apparently noticed this as another shattering ‘bang’ sounded nearby and a bullet bounced off the moving vessel; narrowly missing the man’s head. Carrier darted through the chaos, never being hit. Agent had not been seen as of –

Medic felt something on his neck. Then, suddenly, he was seeing the sun, his breathing restricted, and he stumbled back, arm flailing.

String, metal, around his neck – he struggled, elbowing at the entity behind him – he caught the Agent in the side and her grip slipped; in that moment he reached for his saw.

Her shriek carried over the battlefield. Agent, cloaking down, sprinted off, bleeding profusely from one side – but still alive. One arm hanging limply, she raised her head.

“Nurse!”

She tripped – something had hit her, Spy of course, and she fell. Medic, his neck searing, would have been all too happy to let someone else finish it, but then a loud metallic shriek sounded above.

Nurse leaped off one of the suspended railways above, landed on a lower-strung overhang, then onto the floor nearby the fallen Agent. He swiped viciously at his soundings, as if hoping to catch Spy in the ankle, then jabbed the needle into his comrade’s shoulder.

It seemed far more painful, and crude in comparison to the medigun – but her wound healed up. Heavy saw what was happening and turned his gun on the skinny figure.

Agent leaped up, cloaked, and swept out of the line of fire. Nurse sprinted back towards his team, legs whipping fast enough to match the Scout’s. Medic’s lip twisted upward. Fool, any medical assistant on his own was easy, easy target practice.

Heavy’s bullets scuttled behind him like a shadow. He leaped to one side, creating the remarkable likeness of a ballet dancer.

Meanwhile, Scout was still struggling with the monkey on his back.

“GET – HIM – OFF –“

The Nurse chortled, a high but youthful laugh. Scout spun around to face it, swinging his bat at the skinnier young man in the meantime, “Ey, I’d like to see you getim’ off you stupid tissue-wearin’ –“

Shield, Warrior and Chemic had gathered around the cart and were beginning to get some distance on them, with Carrier, Nurse, Saboteur and Mechanic huddling behind it. The dreadlock-wearing bomb disposal expert was hit in the shoulder by Sniper (healed quickly by Nurse) before said Nurse had to avoid a backstab from Spy.

The Nurse’s needle could not heal as fast nor as diversely as the Medigun – so whenever the GREENS managed to get a hit on the REDS, it was healed over soon after. Nurse didn’t seem to want to stray too far from Shield, but unlike the Heavy, not much offense could come out of that arrangement.

So it was quite a shock to everyone when the Nurse leaped onto the cart, leaped again, kicked off Solider’s thick noggin and sprung full throttle at the Heavy-Medic duo.

Heavy hefted his weapon skyward, which was no easy feat even for him. The metallic bullets soared skyward. The Nurse twisted his body, needle swinging, and embedded it in the large man’s shoulder. Medic dove forward.

The effect was gruesome. It was like the health was being sucked out of the Heavy’s body, resonating from the needle’ entry point, and even the largest, toughest man in the world could not hold back a holler of pain at the sensation. A flurry of cold, poisonous anger lit up the German’s skin.

But then Medic saw it. The Nurse’s fingers slipping – grey eyes widening even as he was perched on Heavy’s other shoulder, latching like a leach – he was hesitating.

Medic’s bone saw came swiping down upon him, and he saw his own grey-blue eyes glinted back at him, reflected, moments before it tore the fabric of the younger man’s shirt.

The Nurse fell, toppling to the ground.

Medic let out a derisive laugh.

THWACK.

The German was all too familiar with the metallic taste of blood. The Nurse had pushed off the ground like a crab and kicked him under the chin. But Medic didn’t drop his weapon, in fact his fingers clamped ever the fighter on his saw.

He slashed forward and the Nurse tipped back to avoid it, landing against the hard side of the cart.

A boot landed beside the Nurse’s head, and he turned his cranium just in time to peer up at Medic, wielding his bone saw and grinning cheerily down at him, “Aaww, did you fall, mien kind? SAW-ree!”

The nurse reacted; adrenaline kicking him back up and he tried to knock the Medic’s arm back. Red-gloved hands smelling of bleach and disinfectant seized the side of the skinnier man’s head and forced him down, slamming him against the ground and pressing him to the dirt. The Nurse scrabbled blindly at the Medic’s arm and shoulder to get free.

“Hold, still, zis won’t hurt.”

But just before Medic could happily skewer him, a pale hand collided with the Medic’s jaw, sending him sprawling, seized the nurse by the scruff and wrenched him out of the way. Nurse had tried to lunge at him, free hand curling like a claw, but the Shield wasn’t having it. Medic’s saw plunged into the soil.

“Pick on somebody your own size, Einstein.” He tossed his shield into the air, caught it at a differing angle, and lunged.

Medic couldn’t quite free his bone saw in time, but no need, Heavy reappeared, blocking the blunt instrument with his arm.

...

Nurse had a bad stitch festering in his chest. His hands were trembling slightly as he pushed the cart. He’d kept Shield and Saboteur’s health up, and Carrier’s too – the others were giving it their all. He watched as Shield dodged the Heavy’s fist, grimacing in agitation. The Medic was wiping the blood away from his broken nose – and their eyes met once again.

The Medic reached for his belt, pulling out a strange cylindrical-looking gun.

Oh lordy –

A shrill, booming yell resonated from above and all heads snapped toward it; the Nurse saw a beige para-shoot; a pair of boots caked in mud, and the next thing he knew his face was bursting with pain; the kind that tells you a blood vessel has been ruptured and you are going to be bleeding and/or swelling as the eyes.

He hit the ground on his side; and heard the fabric of his mask tear and flutter away. Foggily, he was aware of how Respawn was not going to take away the ringing in his ears.

Someone nudged him onto his back; the blue sky twinkled down at him. Pain, pulsing in his head.

Medic was back. Seems he holds grudges.

He saw the man grinning down at him with nothing short of bloodlust – then saw that look dissipate in – something else. The Medic lowered his retrieved bone-saw, staring down at his face.

His face.

He’d lost his mask –

Respawn dragged him from the moment.

…

They utterly flattened the GREEN team, really. They didn’t make it out of their respawn chamber by the end.

When the countdown came, they simply gave in; remaining behind the metallic doors and glowering at the REDS. Sniper threw in a jeering salute for the fun of it.

“Doktor?”

The Medic had been standing at the side-lines, stroking at his chin. His poise and overall composure had completely shifted, and it must have showed. He glanced at Heavy, slowly pulling himself from his musing.

“Forgive me, I vas – thinking.”

“About the vittle nurse?”

Heavy had seen him, too. Now they had their answer to the prior night’s behaviour – the Nurse, in many ways, looked uncannily like the Medic himself. Quite eerie, but fascinating. Medic wouldn’t pretend he wasn’t perturbed by this – but there were fair differences as well; no accent to speak of, and he had never been that scrawny even at that age. But that was what caused the horrified looks of his teammates.

Strange. He understood their surprise, but similarities in facial features shouldn’t cause an entire room to go into shock. No, no, there was something else here.

“COME OUT AND FIGHT!”

The Solider was right at the bullet-proof glass of the respawn area; where the Mechanic and Saboteur – two peas in a pod if Medic ever saw them – were glaring back with equal loathing.

He saw the Nurse in question wander up behind them, talking – his voice muted by the glass – clearly trying to usher them from the window.

The Nurse glanced at the others – saw Heavy’s piercing stare and cringed slightly. That glance deviated to the Medic.

Who gave a pleasant little wave, smiling cheerily. Looking unnerved, the three were quickly nudged out of view by that Shield, who shook his head at Soldier like a disapproving school master.

Aaand…time up.

“Consider the new dogs thoroughly kicked.” The Spy had materialized at their side. And yes, it had been a little anticlimactic. He was giving the doctor a very intense side-eye; of course, he’d seen it too. “So, zat is their problem. Its seems minds think alike. Or perhaps ze good doctor has some surprise bastards running around?”

“Don’t be absurd.” The Medic wasn’t amused at that at all. No, no, he was quite certain it wasn’t anything of that nature.

But there was…

Once again, the Medic’s thought process was interrupted as their overseer’s brittle voice came slicing out of the speakers,

“Return to your bases. You will face the YELLO team tomorrow. Let us hope they aren’t as much of a disappointment.”