Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As the RED Spy stood in front of massive, rusted iron doors, he felt an uneasy chill slide down his back.

He had no reason to be afraid. To the mechanical eyes behind the doors, he appeared to be one of them—a simple automaton. Still, a dreaded, unsettling tremor was threatening to surge through his body. A good rogue always knew when to run. He knew when he was over his head. Staying was suicide. And yet, he did not abandon his mission. How could he? This was his fault, his punishment.

A rough, pixilated voice answered his calls. “What is your designation?”

“Spy Unit Two-Seven-Seven-Three,” the RED Spy replied.

“One moment,” the sentry beeped.

White light fluttered above the Spy’s head. It passed slowly over him, horizontal beams breaking across his disguise. What in the hell was this? A scanner? He had no way of knowing if the nanomachines that altered his appearance would be able to trick something like that. That had never been a tested functionality. Then again, that hadn’t been needed before. A simple visual and audio trick had been enough to fool most people. This was something completely unchecked—something that was going to blow his operation sky-high.

He was prepared to bolt when the sentry spoke again. “Identity verified. Access permitted.”

Gears ground against grit as the intimidating front door pulled open. The Spy held his ground, watching sand rush away in russet clouds. The guts of the fortress just inches in front of him were dark, impenetrable by external light. The floor shimmered beneath low, pale lights. It was clean and quiet. Nothing organic could mar its interior.

A robotic Soldier greeted him. “Please enter.”

The RED Spy took two brisk steps inside Gray’s base. Robots moved around at even clips, unified and lax. It was peculiar to watch them go about their business and not have them lunging at his soft, warm human throat for once. They seemed less like death machines and more like prim servants. Each robot moved two-by-two with another partner. If they were occupied, they were focused solely on their job, paying no attention to the intruder at the front door. There was no talking between the robots. All the RED Spy could hear was the steady clacking of metallic footsteps.

He couldn’t afford stalling outside any longer. The Spy stepped into Gray’s base. He gave a scan about the place, wondering where he needed to go. He was flying blind. Foolishly. There was no other way to gather data about this place. Not without one of the Engineers ripping the head off a robot and reverse-engineering a way to read its CPUs. They didn’t have time for that.

Certainly, not with lives at risk.

“Your response speed has been determined to be too slow,” the Soldier sentry chirped. “Your energy levels are below ten percent. Please proceed to the recharge station.”

The Spy scrunched up his nose. He grimaced, wondering what his facial expressions looked like to a robot. The nanomachine cloud around him was programmed to respond organically, not as a machine would. Did his face just crumple like aluminum foil? He tried to draw attention away from his human responses, speaking in the best fake robot tone he could muster. “Memory banks are low in power. Please provide instructions to the recharge station.”

“Memory lapses are noted. Please follow me,” the robot echoed.

With an awkward, jilting march, the Soldier sentry began walking through the halls. It didn’t take the Spy long to catch up. The human and the robot walked side by side. The Spy compensated the best he could manage for his gait. He had to keep locked in step with the machine as much as possible. To be like the mindless, wandering robots around him. It felt so wooden and cold to act as a robot. He was so used to learning human tics and expressions. This was going against everything he’d ever known.

The RED Spy kept his eyes open as the sentry led him deeper into the base. The lights were dimming even further. He could barely see in front of his sharp nose. Endless rows of doors seemed meaningless to the Spy. Why would one human need so many rooms? These certainly couldn’t all be robot storage facilities.

“Request for information,” the Spy queried.

“Request accepted. Level one information access granted,” his robotic companion said.

The Spy continued surveying the base out of the corners of his eyes. “Requesting information on Foundry Control Point.”

“Summary of Foundry Control Point: mission successful,” the Soldier robot began to rattle. “All control locations were secured using Sierra November Kilo functions. Foundry remains under the Maker’s control. All hail the Maker!”

“All hail the Maker,” the Spy responded. His cheer was less than enthusiastic. “Casualties?”

The sentry continued to prattle on. “No permanent fatalities. One unit was secured from Builder’s League United. Class designation: Sniper.”

An uneasy ball of guilt built in the RED Spy’s stomach. There was so little he could remember from that damned Foundry fight. The last thing he needed to remember was the first event that burned inside him. Metal supports collapsing. Men running in fear. Screaming.  

The BLU Sniper’s body, lying limp and motionless in front of his feet.

Had he not assumed the worst—had he not been such a coward—the RED Spy would have carried his former rival to safety. He wouldn’t have had to stand here, making small talk with a dim robot. And yet, he had run, like a spider in sunlight. He had been so concerned about his own hide that he had left an ally to the whims of a sadistic madman. Would he have abandoned him if the Sniper had been from his team? Was he still that petty about the Gravel Wars? Was he such a villain that he couldn’t take even the most basic pity on another human being?

Being here, that had to mean something. It wasn’t full redemption, but it was a step on the right path.

“Requesting information on BLU Sniper location,” the Spy demanded.

The Soldier robot made an unusual screech. “Access denied! You do not have proper information access levels. This request will be logged for further review.”

The RED Spy grimaced. That was the last thing he needed. He crossed his hands behind his back, feeling for his left jacket pocket. There was a heavy, metallic contraption resting inside. His sapper. He gave a quick glance around him, just to see if he was in the clear. There were no robots in sight.

With a viper’s finesse, he slapped the sapper onto the Soldier robot. Instantly, it flopped down, dropping to a ninety-degree angle with its legs. The Spy manipulated the switches on his sapper. There was a low grumble from beneath his hands as the Soldier sentry struggled to vocalize.

The Spy cocked his head to the side. He repeated his orders with a snarl. “Requesting information on BLU Sniper location.”

His mechanical gremlin had changed the stubborn robot’s mind. “Basement, Second Floor. Room Three A. Under Level Three observation.”

“Do I have that clearance?” the Spy asked. He gave the sapper another good twist. Electricity snapped off the device.

“Access granted,” the Soldier said.

“Good,” the Spy smiled.

He yanked the sapper from the robot’s back. The machine fell with an uneasy clunk onto the perfectly polished floors. The RED Spy pulled the machine upright, then slipped his blade into its back. The robot’s battery line was simple to cut, even if it was harder to slice through than a human spine. As soon as the machine was disabled, the Spy searched for a door. He pulled one to the right open. The room behind it looked like little more than a scrap heap. Good enough. He shoved the dead machine inside, then jogged away.

His disguise kit was quick to take up the form of his robotic counterpart. That made his hunt for a stairwell simpler. Even in a winding base, it didn’t take him long to find a staircase headed down. If it wasn’t in the center of the floor, it was always along the outer walls. The Spy raced down two flights, moving much faster than any robot had a need to go.

A terrible feeling overcame the Spy as he reached the second basement floor. It settled in his ribs like a chilled mist, pressed down against his brain like a thick fog. It was as if the cold hand of death was reaching inside his body. Such an oppressive feeling hadn’t struck him in years. He was certain that he had buried such dread in his childhood. He didn’t dare waste any more time trying to collect himself. He had a mission to do.

The labyrinth several feet below the desert floor was cold. Cement floors and walls shined with less than a few watts. The Spy moved softly, calmly. His bad feeling gnawed away at his spine, but he let it be. In a way, it was a relief when he spotted a Heavy robot just at the end of the third hallway. He knew the enemy now. While it was powerful, it was slow and simple to outwit.

And, most important of all, he didn’t have to talk with it.

He didn’t bother with hiding himself. There were no other robots to spy on him, no other security than the guard. One motion was all it took. The RED Spy threw his arm around the machine’s thick face, then stabbed it straight through its plates. The bulky hunk of metal crashed to the ground without so much as a squeal. He grabbed a security card from its lifeless husk, then jammed it in the cell’s door. With a click, the door opened.

The Spy’s breath rushed from his lungs. It was slow to return. Some atrophied sense of pity feebly clutched at the core of his stomach. He felt its tiny grip take hold. There was a thrashed heap of a human in the corner of the windowless, dark room. He smelt blood, the old perfume of his trade. Crimson splotches stuck to walls and floors alike. Slowly, he lifted his left foot, then his right. His careful gait dragged him to the captive lying on the ground.

Gray had given no mercy. A purple contusion on the BLU Sniper’s head was split open, blood clotted but dried in plentiful heaps. There was more that had escaped his nostrils in twin, scarlet falls. His eyes were swollen, legs and arms cut. His left hand was gripped onto his right side. The RED Spy reached down, peeling back the protective hand as he observed the injury there. A long, deep slash. He had bled with such force that his powder blue shirt was stained dark maroon.

And yet, he was alive.

The simplest thing to do would have been to kill the poor bastard. A single bullet could have spared him any more pain and made the RED Spy’s escape that much faster. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. It felt wrong in every fiber of his being, but damn it, this situation was truly his fault. If he had made the slightest effort to save his former enemy, this wouldn’t have happened. The least he could do now was display even the most basic level of human compassion and virtue.

The RED Spy reached down once more. There was a groan as he grabbed onto the Sniper’s left arm and leg. The Spy’s nerves caught again. He had underestimated the strength of his rival’s spirit. The BLU Sniper lifted his head, struggled to see through pained eyes. The last bit of color in his face drained.

“Spy?” the BLU Sniper rasped.

The RED Spy nodded. “Oui. Stay still. We don’t have much time.”

The Sniper shook his head. “Run.”

“You are daft!” The Spy hissed through his teeth. “I didn’t sneak down here just to let you fester in your own filth!”

The Sniper drew a breath, his jaw shaking. His voice cracked. “Go!”

“Would you have faith?” The RED Spy growled. “I have zhis situation—”

CLANG!

The Spy went flush with the wall. Spears of terror shot through his spine. The door! It had snapped shut! He rushed against it, fingers laced around the handle. Once, twice, three times he shook it. Locked tight. He searched for another card key slot, but there was none to be found. Not on the inside. He slammed his shoulder into the door, trying with all of his might to break through.

He stopped at the sound of a taunting voice. “You imbeciles never learn, do you?”

A bright projection flickered onto the wall behind the RED Spy. It was blinding in the dark room. Gray Mann greeted his newest prisoner. “I must admit—you got much further than I anticipated.”

The RED Spy growled. “What gave me away?”

Gray clapped his hands, then simpered. “The front door scan, actually. I thought it would be easier to have you walk into a cell before I forced the electronic locks on. And what do you know? It worked!”

The Spy reached for his sapper. “Connard!”

Gray shook his head. “Now, now. Behave, my friend. I will be sending parties down to fetch you shortly. Large ones. Play nicely! I’ll be seeing you soon!”

The RED Spy gave a panicked glance towards the BLU Sniper as the projection clicked off. No. No! He hadn’t come this far to blow his mission. What could he do? His sapper could undo the latch, perhaps, but he couldn’t get away. Not with the Sniper in tow, not in his condition. The RED Spy felt a horrible, gristly plan return. His last resort. Respawn would pick them up. That was the fastest way out.

For once, he was truly sorry for conspiring to kill his rival.

He drew his butterfly knife. The weapon clacked open with a smooth flick. Easy. Simple. Like putting a sick animal down. The BLU Sniper couldn’t fight him. Given the resigned look on his face, the Spy knew that he wouldn’t, even if he could. As if he expected this. The RED Spy took his left hand, his mind struggling to put an apology together.

Even now, after years spent in English-speaking lands, he failed to find the right words. “Je suis désolé.”

The RED Spy raised his blade.

Steel fists caught his wrists before he could bring it down.

He thrashed. He kicked. He spat and swore, cursed and stamped, dug into every last inch of floor. It did no good. A Heavy robot dragged him backwards. It squashed his hands, forcing the knife from his grasp. The weapon clattered on the ground. It was swept up by another machine—a Soldier robot, of all things. Both robots took him away, kicking and yelling, the worst of his native tongue nothing more than humid bursts of air and saliva.

When the BLU Sniper’s cell door slammed shut once more, the RED Spy’s arrogant spirit was crushed.

Chapter Text

Blood as warm as lava flowed slowly from aching wounds. Abrasions burned across a weary cheek. Bruises ebbed, so many red and purple scars across skin that grew paler by the hour. The last colors on the captive that weren’t painted on were fading fast. His shirt, softly hued as cornflower blossoms, grew heavy and dark with his injuries. His clever eyes were holding onto the last few pigments of his allegiance, but even that was fading from piercing blue to dull, scuffed gray.

Not that such color came through the camera in front of him. To the receiver at the other end of the broadcast cables, sitting in front of a static-spackled CRT monitor, he was little more than a pale, ghastly shade. The captive loathed that feeling, dreaded that sad face staring back at him from hundreds of miles away. He was of no value to his captor. They were as different as fire and ice, one of sands and the other of steel. No. The captive cuffed in front of Gray’s camera was little more than a shiny bauble being dangled in front of hard goggles, a frown fixed deep and low below them.

The tender silence between them was broken by a feigned sigh from the captor. “Here he is. Hardly in mint condition, but I think you’ll find that he’s worth a fair price.”

“He’s…” was all the man in the monitor said before lowering his head.

The captive’s heart shuddered. No injury hurt as badly as seeing Truckie falter. This was why Gray had kept him alive. Not for any knowledge he held, not for perverted kicks—for ransom. The Engineer was such a clever man. His brain had value, his hands strength and power. Traits like that caught even the most arrogant of attentions. Gray knew such treasure when he saw it. It made it that much easier to buy him with trash.

The Sniper shifted. He rolled his shoulders upright, straightened his back. “No worries, mate.”

The Engineer’s head snapped up. Reason tried to slip into his head once more. Goggles kept fixed on his face, his words slipping into a casual tone. “Don’t like seein’ you like that, Stretch.”

“It is a pity, isn’t it?” Thin fingers slipped below the Sniper’s jaw, pulling his head back. The Sniper didn’t flinch as Gray kept tugging on the Engineer’s strings. “However, he is a strong one. I doubt he will be succumbing to his injuries anytime soon.”

His threats were clear to both men. There would be no catching the Sniper in respawn’s safety net. He would live—and his life would be as miserable as Gray sought to make it. It was his duty as the Engineer’s teammate to make sure he didn’t feel that same sharp stab. A cut on the Engineer’s cheek was a slash at their team’s heart. The least he could do after failing to stay by his side was to protect him.

“Strange thing happened, Truckie,” the Sniper plowed through Gray’s skulking. “Got a visitor.”

“Yeah?” the Engineer asked.

Gray raised an eyebrow as the Sniper kept talking. “Red man. Had a knife. Know ‘im?”

“Think I do,” the Engineer nodded. It was hard to forget the RED Spy, especially after so many dreadful encounters with him. Both men had more scars in their sides from his blade than teeth in their grins. “Where’d he go?”

“I don’t—” was all the Sniper got out before Gray tapped beneath his chin again. His toes curled in frustration. Gray was smart enough to keep his fingers away from the Sniper’s mouth. Had they gotten any closer to him, he would have bitten them off with one snap.

“That’s enough of a teaser for now. Don’t you agree?” Gray smirked when neither man chimed in. “What do you think, Mister Conagher? Want to see this one in living color?”

The Sniper kept his posture firm, eyes half-opened, lips pulled into a smile. Such a tiny motion echoed in the Engineer’s face. He leaned back, placing a thick arm onto the back of his seat. Relaxing. There wasn’t a reason Truckie had to fear for the Sniper’s life. Each man was certain in the other’s strength and cunning. All they needed was a little time and confidence.

“Think I’ll tune in next time,” the Engineer said, then reached for his camera.

Even as the CRT monitor went dark, the Sniper felt warm. Good. Truckie didn’t crack. They both had time to work on their next plan, whatever that was. It didn’t seem like Gray was that put off, either.

Nothing had really changed. Just another stalemate.

Chapter Text

"Is this what you wanted?"

The question was difficult for the red-clad Spy to answer. Yes, he wanted his rival like this—exhausted, panting, struggling to pick himself off the floor, shirt torn open. At the same time, the Spy was repulsed to see the other captive in such a state. Harmed by another's hand. Caged up in a cold, dusty cell. Bleeding. Quiet. Still.

This war between the two of them had gotten too complicated. It was much simpler when murdering each other was just a day job. If they fought, if they killed each other, that was good. All part of the contract. The bloodlust shared between them was of great amusement to their handlers. What did that matter now that both their employers were dead? Why did they still bicker? Was impending assault from a third faction not enough to unite them?

All of their fighting—what did it matter?

Their mutual captor sighed. There was a steady click behind the Spy's ears, chambers of a revolver rattling as Gray spun them idly. "If you would be so kind to give me an answer, Monsieur. I do hate wasting time."

The Spy straightened his back. "Oui. I came here to retrieve him."

The clicking stopped. Gray pulled away from him. "Good. Why?"

A tougher question still. The Spy rolled his head back. It bumped against an iron headrest. Of course, he had to be chained to a metal chair. Where would there ever be wood in Gray Mann's base? Everything the crotchety old man had to have was either rock or metal. Smelted and hammered into a perfect form. Without the chaos of life.

He lowered his eyes, studying the rows of monitors in front of his face. The BLU Sniper's form couldn't have taken up more than a couple of inches on the screen closest to him. His image wouldn't have been long enough to reach between the buttons in the Spy's jacket. Such a shame. To see that long man shrunk down, cut short—it was wrong.

"I left him," the Spy replied.

He never expected his treachery to be so simple to explain. RED and BLU were supposed to be united, fighting as a whole against Gray's army of robots. He had reached out to the Sniper, and the man had tried reaching back. There were spats, there were outright brawls, but there had been an attempt to mend their past. And then the Spy had left him. Just abandoned him in a blazing building, running like a coward to save his own life, as if he was never put into respawn at all.

The Spy bit his lip. "Why did your machines take him? Why would you want him?"

"To be honest? I don't," Gray said. He marched behind the Spy, explaining his logic simply, as if the whole world was too stupid to understand him. "I don't like taking care of humans. Least of all, ones that offer nothing to me. However, he seems to have a close bond with one particular member of his team. One I could put to good work."

A snarl escaped the left side of the Spy's lip. "Zhe BLU Engineer."

Of course. That fat, stubborn little man. The Spy had practically thrown both men into each other's arms. An error in respawn and a savage attack had left the Sniper with the Spy's handiwork carved into his body. The Engineer had to live with the knowledge that every last one of his beloved machines couldn't prevent such wounds from happening. Guilt from failing his friend. And the Sniper? Angry. Fearful. Damaged, knowing that his precious skills failed in the Spy's wake. The two of them shared an ember together, trying to cauterize their dread and faults. Such fire had been turned against the Spy.

If that damned Engineer wasn't so arrogant…if that Sniper wasn't so fun to pin down…

"And he hasn't rode in on a pony to zhe rescue?" the Spy snorted.

Gray snickered at the mental image. He let it go, his frown settling on his face again. "No. I've attempted to lure him over, but the only fly in the honey pot has been you."

The Spy shook his head. "I can't imagine what's keeping him away."

"The same bait I was using to catch him." Gray grumbled, then put a hand over his head. "I knew I should have used a muzzle. It's hard to negotiate a deal with that dog barking over me."

"No. It's my experience zhat you keep your fingers as far away from his fangs as possible," the Spy cringed.

Gray raised an eyebrow. He passed behind the Spy's back, putting his gun away. "So. You've handled this man before."

Not in the way he wanted to. Not like in battle, when the Sniper would be observant enough to catch him. How much more pleasing it was to fight him than to hold him prisoner. To have those strong hands pushing him back, the clatter of glass jars smashing open, seeping liquid into the floorboards below them. Sometimes the fight ended too quickly. One cut throat, another stabbed back. But when it went longer—when blades fell aside—those were the moments that set the Spy's blood boiling. Bodies to the floor. Thunk! Glass shards digging into cotton, long legs kicking beneath him, fingers in his eyes and under his mask.

If the Spy lost, it wasn't always terrible. He'd get that flash of teeth, eyes pale in the darkness, wild hair freed from a crumpled hat. His damage would keep that Sniper limping for some time afterwards. When the Sniper lost the fight, then it was pure bliss. He was so slow to die. His body would sink into the Spy's hands, warm blood flowing smoothly over silk gloves. He'd roll his head to the right—always to the right—exposing that beautiful scar. He might scream, he might gasp, but his last breaths would always be low, deep, silent, warm. The fire was slow to leave him, but it was amazing to watch it burn out.

He wondered if that was how his rival always was—in fevered illness, in aching woe, in warm curls of cotton through the cold night.

"He is a handful," the Spy murmured.

Gray smirked again. "And yet, you wanted him."

The Spy wouldn't clarify his thoughts. "In a fashion."

Weight settled on his left shoulder. The chair gave a little squeak as Gray whispered into the Spy's ear. "What if I gave him to you?"

Such a question forced a cackle from the Spy. What the hell did that even mean? No hand that held the Sniper could keep him for long. He was a wild dog. The only way he kept still was of his own judgment, his comfort in the quietness of others. Not even the strongest man could hold a waterfall back, reflect one bolt of lightning to heaven, keep any force of nature from doing as it would. Even his current cell couldn't hold the Sniper's will. Not as long as a fire burned in his belly.

"I wasn't making a joke," Gray scoffed.

"You are not one to be charitable," the Spy said. He raised his head up, pulled up his nose. "You must want something from me, no? To give me your bait?"

Gray tapped the Spy on the top of his head. "You have experience capturing men from Teufort. If Mister Mundy can't bring me Mister Conagher, perhaps you can."

The Spy nodded. "I have taken him hostage previously. However, I have poor incentive as it stands."

"My bait isn't enough for you?" Gray mocked him. He pulled back, then studied the monitor with the sluggish Sniper. "Please. You've already pursued it. You're only claiming sour grapes now because you got caught with your hands on the vine."

Fair point. However, the Spy wouldn't concede. "I couldn't keep such a prize. As soon as you'd give him to me, he'd take off for his friends. He's too much for one man to handle—and zhat is what I'd be after zhis, wouldn't I? One man against many."

"Well… Let's say neither team would be sending you Christmas cards anymore." Gray cracked his knuckles. "But if he's as much of an untamed animal as you claim him to be, perhaps I can fix that."

"How?" The Spy's curiosity escaped him before his tact could pen it up.

A dark laugh rose to the Spy's shoulders. It drenched him in sweltering mirth. His chair scraped against the ground as one of Gray's robots turned the captive around. The inventor pulled one computer monitor to himself, hooking it to a node in the center of a metal table. There was a pop of light, and images began spinning in front of the Spy's nose. He barely managed to suppress a gasp at such a sight.

A small island sprawled across the table. Most of it was covered in staggering mountains, lush forestry. The only open area was an enclosed seaside village. Colors of each and every shade striped across umbrellas, flags, awnings. Architecture bloomed in round domes. Tiny people stood frozen in place—ascending stairs, buying meals, chasing after each other. Clearly, a photograph. The size and clarity of it was enough to silence the Spy.

"There are others like you out there. Spies no longer able to work," Gray murmured. He waved a hand towards a residential district. "Governments in every prosperous country have these environments set up. I was hired to install a security system for this community in Wales. No villager leaves, but they have enough creature comforts. If you chose to retire here, I guarantee that the Sniper will not be able to escape you."

The Spy narrowed his eyes. "And live zhe rest of my life as a prisoner?"

"Fine. Let me offer you another solution." A click brought a new image. It wasn't nearly as clear as the first photo, but it was still an attractive enough location. "Every inventor and entrepreneur like myself stockpiles islands. I could spare you one. A perfect ecosystem for you to manage. You'll have to have on-staff personnel in case of emergencies, but my robots should be more than sufficient. If you want off the island? Then we can schedule your own flights to wherever you want to go."

"Generous. Very generous. However…" The Spy shook his head.  "Zhat still wouldn't keep zhe Sniper from leaving zhe minute we set foot on zhe ground. He would build a raft out of coconut trees, no doubt."

Gray rocked back. "Right. That personality problem. Then, how about this?"

The last image was the least exciting of all. There was nothing lively or organic to it. It was round, covered in thin gouges and metallic prickles. Without proper scaling, it looked like some cheap sci-fi moon station. The Spy lifted an eyebrow, his tone flat in his confusion. "And that is?"

"A microchip from my robots retro-fitted to work for humans. Specifically, it's designed to stimulate the generation of serotonin, oxytocin, and dopamine upon pre-programmed stimuli using a small amount of electric shock," Gray rattled. "In this case, the stimuli is you" 

The Spy drew back. "In ozher words—"

Gray rolled his eyes. "If there's anything I hate doing, it's speaking in laymen's terms." He leaned forward, then sneered. "Simply put? A device that zaps that stupid Australian in the head until he forms an addiction to your presence. You know. Love."

The Spy had no illusions about what he was. He was an assassin, treacherous, snide. Evil, perhaps. Not like this. He may have had to sleep his way through Europe and break half-a-thousand hearts, but he did so legitimately, with his words and skills. He cleaned up after himself, made sure no one was hurt but his targets. This? This was madness. This meant devaluing the Sniper's spirit and body, the untamed vigor and cunning wrapped in a battered, beautiful shell. What stolen diamond ever shone brighter under the light than one that was cut by hand?

No. No. It was always no, and was always going to be no.

"If you are finished insulting my intelligence, zhen we are done," the Spy said.

Gray didn't immediately respond to that rejection. He tipped his head, picking through the words. "There's nothing else you'd want?"

"You've had your robots kidnap two men by now," the Spy grumbled. He turned his head over his shoulder. "Surely, zhey are smart enough to get a third, are zhey not?"

His captor didn't feel the need to answer such contemptuous jabs. He snapped his bony fingers. At such a simple command, thick robots came to his aid. He muttered something low, but the Spy didn't care to listen to the old man's grumblings. It didn't matter if he had them kill him or if he threw him into a tiny cell. He was done bartering with another devil. He would find his own way out.

Or in.

One robot clamped onto his shoulders as another released his restraints. He only fussed to see the monitors behind him one last time. Narrow eyes staring at the camera caught his throat. The Sniper was awake. Conscious. Mad. The Spy had been on the receiving end of that glare many times before. Now, he was glad to see such focused anger.

Both robots and their master pushed the Spy downstairs once more. Finished floors gave away to sand. The Spy dragged his heels, his mind racing thirty paces in front of him. So, he was restrained.  So, the Sniper was trapped. There had to be something he could do. That Australian was just as clever as he was. If he was smart enough to keep the Engineer at bay, he could help the Spy escape.

A little flag waving didn't hurt. The Spy spoke loudly, knowing he'd catch the Sniper's ears. "You did fully disarm both of us, did you not?"

"And you thought I was insulting your intelligence!" Gray snarled.

The Spy slowed his pace as they closed in on the Sniper's door. He dug his feet down, his tone becoming more obnoxious. "All of my watches? My disguises? My devices?"

Gray snorted. "Please. Like you carry anything but your watches and that tobacco case. It's not like you keep knives in your shoes."

"And him?" The Spy nodded towards the Sniper's door. "Did you get zhe bullets from his vest?"

Gray stopped. He glared at the Sniper's cell. Surrounded by thick sheets of metal. Bolted shut with an electric lock. Impossible to see in or out of. He continued staring at it, ancient brain processing this new datum. The Spy wasn't completely wrong. Four bullets without a rifle weren't going to be any good at killing others. Swallowing them wouldn't likely kill the Sniper—long as it passed through his digestive tract without causing any blockage. There was still powder inside of them, power enough to hurt someone if given the right smack. Whether the Sniper chose to hurt himself or someone else—it wouldn't matter if he got free.

"Open his door," Gray ordered.

The first heavy-set robot reached for the lock. It popped open. The robot reached for the door, pulling it back ever-so-slightly. It yanked backwards in a programmed reflex when leather caught its wrist. Out fell the Sniper, holding on like a bucked rodeo contestant as the robot thrashed its arms. The Spy struggled to hide his smile. If he were in the Sniper's shoes, he would have saved his belt for Gray's neck. Still, there was something impressive with strapping himself to a robot's fist and taking the rough ride out.

"Don't—" was all Gray got out before the Sniper kicked him.

It wasn't an impressive kick. Nothing as mule strong as he could be at full force. It was enough to knock the old man onto his tailbone.  The aggressive move set off the guard holding the Spy captive. It stepped over its master, its mighty fist crashing onto the Sniper's position. The Australian let go of his belt. He didn't escape the full brunt of the attack, but he was fast enough to roll onto his feet.

The Spy flopped upward as his captor's momentum yanked him off the ground. There was no way he could wrench himself free from the steel-strong grip of the Heavy robot. That wasn't going to stop him from struggling. He kicked sand up, dousing both the master and his bots in a short cloud. Hardly an effective blinding tool against a robot, but it made for a fantastic distraction. There was another scuffle, then a cry as bone snapped.

Gleaming white metal popped out of the dust. A gun—Gray's. Not in Gray's hands.  Two rounds exploded in the robot's head. One more went through the wrist joint of the downed machine, cutting the Spy loose and fraying the fabric on his jacket. The Spy sighed. The RED Sniper would have been a much better shot than this klutz. The last shots went behind the Sniper. Electric crackling and an old man's scream went into the air. Not a fatal shot to man nor machine—just a debilitating wound. Something to slow him down, not to let him respawn. A favor returned.

For a man just out of the dark abyss of his unconscious mind, the BLU Sniper was ready to run.

Both stumbled towards the stairwell as a gurgling scream stirred the robots, the hem of the Sniper's vest slipping beneath hands too slow to catch him. Snaps of machinery turned their attention to the pair. This was too loud, too frantic. This Sniper could never make it as a secret agent. And yet, there he was, up the stairwell and dragging the Spy as he ran. His fingers skirted the Sniper's wounds, feeling a terrified pulse race beneath bloodied cloth. Here was the power, the energy the Spy fancied in their fights. Beneath his arms and fingers, just for this moment, his enemy's heart was his own.

"You are insane!" the Spy hissed.

The Sniper didn't have enough sense or blood in his head to argue that. His teeth flashed as he leapt towards a window. "Just run!"

The Spy threw his head back in disgust. The mad marksman was looking out of the windows, his eyes wild. He slammed against the window, grunting as it cracked, but not shattered. The Spy stood behind him, mouth agape. "We need to find keys! Weapons! Vehicles!"

"Toss me," was all the Sniper said.

Oh, sure. Now he wanted to be defenestrated. There wasn't time to fight with him. Clanking was closing in on them, angry shrieking coming from downstairs. Fine. The Sniper would survive this. The Spy grabbed him by the loops of his pants, then shoved him out. Glass smashed into tiny bits as he rolled free, landing on a dune below.

Seconds later, the Spy crashed next to him.

Hot winds and stirring dust woke the dazed mercenaries up anew. This time, the Spy took the lead. The Sniper jerked forward, lanky legs slow to start in their run. Being outside was exhilarating. The sun on their backs, the sand in the air and their lungs. Unfiltered. Raw. Free. The bullets pounding behind them kept them racing, faster than aching muscles could tolerate.

"How'd you get here?" the Sniper huffed.

"Dune buggy," the Spy snarled. "Gray took zhe keys. If you would have let me get zhem back—"

The Sniper skipped over the Spy's nagging. "Weapons in it? Bullets? Knives?"

"Of course," the Spy replied.

"Then hotwire the damn thing!" the Sniper growled. "I'll cover ya, mate!"

The Spy gave him a look of incredulity. That BLU marksman's mind was running fast, frayed, spewing any thought that came into his head. Even on his last fumes, he burned brilliantly. The Spy agreed to the plan. He pulled on the Sniper's wrist, driving him faster towards where he last left his vehicle.

If Gray had taken that? There was no going back. Even if they had to travel through the bowels of the underworld, they were getting back to Teufort.

A black frame rose behind a dune. The Sniper tumbled to it, gravity stronger than his legs. He was already in the Spy's supply kit before the secret agent could stumble to the guts of the vehicle. He reached towards the kit, but he found a knife's handle placed in his hands. The Sniper smiled. He steadied himself in the shotgun seat, picking off thin bots as they poured over the dunes. The Spy sighed, then pried the plastic cover free from the steering wheel column.

One shot. Two. Wires pulled free. Three. Four. Wires stripped. Five. Six. Reload. Twist. Bullets exploded again. The wires went hot in his hands. The Spy pulled backwards. At least his gloves had absorbed the shock. He sat upright, then slammed down on the accelerator. The vehicle shot forward, jerking the Sniper around. He crashed face-first into the vehicle's frame as the dune buggy tore away from Gray Mann's base.

The crunching of robots in the sand faded away. Gears spun, churning the desert up. Slowly, carefully, the Sniper sank down. His breath was lost in the dunes behind them. The Spy spared little time to look him over. They had to keep going—to weave, to find the winds, to lose their trail.

"I'm—" the Sniper gasped.

"Buckle up," the Spy ordered. "You're going home."

"Home," the Sniper echoed.

The wind blew the fire out. The Sniper slumped, clutching his stomach. Wounds half-mended had torn open. The Spy shuddered. He reached behind their heads, into the supply kit. A half-emptied bottle of medical gel slipped from his hands, falling into the Sniper's lap. The Sniper pulled his shirt aside, balling it against his wounds until the medicine finished healing them. Bare, trembling in the presence of his former enemy, his crooked smile gleaming just for the Spy.

Damned if this wasn't what he wanted. 

Damned that he couldn't keep it.