Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

- Are we moving yet? –

Heavy groaned, crushing the steering wheel between his hands.

- Scout, I swear –, said Medic from the front seat, raising his eyes from the paper he was trying to read. – It has been five minutes. We’re still stuck in traffic -.

- fucking goddamnit! –. Scout stomped his foot: – we’ve been trapped in here for hours. I’m getting nauseous -.

- See? –, intervened Engie, leaning forward. – He’s getting sick too. Spy, tone it down with the cigarettes. Oxigen has been thinnening in here -

 - I don’t care -. Spy exhaled another cloud of smoke inside the mini van. - I insisted to get the seat near the window –, he continued, - You didn’t let me. Now you get to suffer -.

- For fucks sake –, exclaimed Medic, - can’t you wait ten minutes? Like the rest of us? -

- Ten minutes? –, snarled Spy: - I’ve spent one hour and a half sandwiched between this jittering, sweating child and this other aussie idiot, who has hogged half of my seat and grinds his theeth in his sleep! -. He furiously flickered the lighter against his face: – either you let me smoke or I snap and gut every single one of you -.

- I’ll gut ye first if ye don’t shut op – growled Demo.

- Oh, yeah? –. Spy hunched against the van’s roof: - Please, do it! Kill me! Get me out of this agony! -

- Enough! – roared Heavy, - Everyone shut the fuck up! Or I leave you in the middle of road -. He tilted the rearview mirror: - Spy, be good boy and put your seatbelt on. I told Soldier to do it, you do it too -.

- Solly isn’t wearing it either! -

- Soldier, put your seatbelt on! – yelled Heavy. Sighing, he squinted at the long queue of cars in front of him. The scorching sun of that afternoon glimmered on the vehicles roofs.

- Maybe someone is moving –, he murmured to Medic. – I can’t tell. Son of a bitch grey car is occupying two lanes and I can’t surpass -.

- You are getting tense, lieblech –, noticed Medic, brushing Heavy’s leg. – You vant to change? Let me get into the drivers seat -.

- Don’t worry, doktor –, reassured Heavy: - Misha is calm and tranquil -.

He proceeded to pound his entire fist on the car horn, making everyone jump on their seat.

- MOVE THE FUCK AWAY, LEETLE IDIOT MAN! – he shouted, sticking his head out of the car window.

- Thats it –, said Medic, hastily putting away his paper. – Move over. I’m driving -

- What’s the problem anyway? -.

Medic flinched when Soldier grabbed his headrest.

- Stomp that foot on the accelerator, private! –, he roared into Heavy’s ear. - Crash against that maggot! Aren’t you russian? You should know how to drive a car like a … -. He interrupted himself, his attention getting caught by something in Medic’s lap.

- Wait a damn minute –. His hand shot downwards, fishing a plastic bag.

- These lurid traitors had chips the whole time!! – he yelled, showing the crumpled bag to anyone.

- They had chips??? – gasped Scout, overturned. – Fuck you! You said we hadn’t snacks! –

- Snacks are for good mercs that behave well –, retorted Medic, reaching to retrieve the bag. – You guys have been a fucking stick in the ass for the whole trip. No chips for you -.

- Wait! – exclaimed Demo, whining a little: - I’ve been a good merc! I want some chips! –

- You should’ve act faster, son! –, replied Soldier, already fighting with Medic’s arm.

- Ah! Careful, you’re spilling crumbs all over! -

- Cease your resistance, goddamn nazi! You bought these chips on american soil! -

- FINALLY! THANK GOD! –

Heavy suddenly floored the accelerator. Soldier fell backwards and crashed against the minivan’s back, chips scattering everywhere. Everyone else found themselves thrown against their own teammates: groans of pain rose from behind the driver’s seat.

- What … what the hell? –

Sniper rubbed his temple, his glasses crooked. The impact had awoken him.

- Thats reason you put on seatbelt –, stated Heavy, not looking back. Finally, traffic had unclogged and they were moving again. He sighed with relief.

- Great! More ten minutes and we will arrive –. He raised his voice again: - now, I don’t want hear more whining, more complaining, everyone be quiet until we are in mall parking lot -.

Finally, silence blessed the minivan for a while.

- Mate, I gotta pee –, muttered Sniper, unprompted.

Heavy resisted the urge to bang his head on the steering wheel.

-Why didn’t you go when we stopped at gas station? –, he snarled.

- Oi, I was sleepin’! –

- Well, no more stops now. There is empty gatorade under your feet –.

- Oh, no you don’t! – growled Spy, stealing the plastic bottle from Sniper’s hands. – There’s enough stench in here without you sticking your dick out right next to me, thank you very much –.

- Fine –. Unbiased, Sniper started undo his zip: – I’ll pee out the car window instead -.

- No! Wait! We are driving fast! -. Engie rushed to roll up the window behind, shutting it just as Sniper stuck his crotch outside. Two seconds after, yellow-red droplets of liquid started to splatter against the glass, much to everyone’s disgusted groans.

- Mmmf! Hudda huh! – exclaimed Pyro, concerned.

- ja, that’s right -, commented Medic: - Sniper, I told you to take that bladder infection seriously! Either you take the meds I gave you, or I’ll rip your pipes off and substitute them with an ostrich’s cloaca. What do you think about that, mister? -.

__

All the locals that were going about nearby turned to stare when the bumped, red minivan parked into an empty stall outside the mall. The second Heavy turned off the engine, all the doors clanged open and the nine men rushed to get out.

- Finally! Fresh air! – exhaled Engie, hands on his back.

 For the afternoon, they all were showing off their best civilian clothes; or at least, what they thought could suit said label: the frenchman’s black gessato clashed vehemently with Soldier’s old army t-shirt and dusty jeans. Sniper wore a rather horrid striped shirt, and Demo had his beloved kilt on. Not to mention, Pyro still wore his gas mask, catching worried glances from one or two strangers.

- That’s it! -. Soldier clapped his hands: - let’s get in -.

- Whoah, there! –

Before he could move a step, Engie raised his hands.

- Fellas, this is the time to remind y’all we are entering a pacific, public space -. His eyes lowered on his teammate. - Solly, leave the rocket launcher inside the van or God help me -.

- Negative! -. Soldier held tighter his beloved weapon: – That’s out of question! What if there are communists inside, huh? Or a god-forsaken terrorist, threatening the peaceful afternoon of families and children? –

- Solly, the mall guards will surely think you are a terrorist if you show up with that -.

 Soldier begrudgingly laid the rocket launcher inside the trunk. – Good! – sighed Engie: - anyone else has brought weapons? I don’t want any shenanigans inside -.

The other mercs exchanged titubant stares. Slowly yet surely, an absurd amount of guns, knives, rifles and chirurgical scalpels was lowered in.

- Jesus Christ –, mumbled Engie, running to close the trunk before strangers could see. - … a sword? Seriously, Demo, you brought your sword? -

- Aye –, the man shrugged, – that’s a real charmer for the lasses –

- Sure, buddy -. He shut the trunk with a loud thud: – Ok. Now we can go -.

Scout sprinted like a puppy towards the glass building, screaming something about ice-cream and a videogame arcade. Hearing about ice-cream, Soldier and Pyro quickly followed. Medic hooked his arm with Heavy’s, strolling towards the entrance; Spy and Engie walked right after.

Demo saw Sniper stop, lingering aside.

- ye alright, laddie? –, he asked, reaching to him.

- Sure, mate -. Sniper swinged a little on his feet, glancing left and right. – I’m… just taking a moment to breathe in and out before entering, ya know? This trip wasn’t really my idea: I’m not very fond of crowded spaces –.

He got closer to Demo, fishing from his shirt pocket a long, fat joint.

- I, uh… brought this little treat with me -.

Demo’s eye lightened up.

- oh, hell yeah! –, he grinned: - pass that shét -.

Chapter Text

- Medic, Engie: I’ll need your assistance -.

Walking across the entrance hall of the building, Spy turned to his colleagues: - I saw there’s a new european botique opened on the second floor. I need to buy a couple suits -.

- Good for you. What has it to do with us? – asked Engie, hands in his pockets.

Spy rolled his eyes: - only shabby men go and try clothes alone. I need second opinions on the outfits. And, unfortunately, you guys are the only two amongst all that I know will behave and won’t set something on fire -.

- Uh, I dunno … –, mumbled Engie, - I wanted to do something else -.

- Come on. Shall I remind you you owe me one? Spending some time inside a clothing shop won’t kill you. And maybe you’ll find something fancy for yourself as well. I believe that flannel you’re wearing was bought in 1935, mon ami –.

- hmpf … -. Engie adjusted his shirt’s collar, a little torn. He did owe Spy a favor.

– … fine -.

- Excellent –. Spy turned to the other: - Medic? –

- I have an idea! – he said, squeezing Heavy’s arm. – My dear -, he asked him, - weren’t you saying that you feel embarassed when we go out in town for dinner and you have only working clothes to wear? How about we find a tailored shirt and tie for you as well? -.

-Uh. I’m not sure, doktor – answered Heavy, scratching his chin. - Elegant clothes are expensive. Don’t like to spend lot of money for fancy, frivolous stuff -.

- Vell, I do -. Medic looked lovingly at his partner: – I’ll buy you those clothes. Let me spoil you a little -.

Heavy seemed undecided, letting his eyes float over the shops signs.

- Ok –, he said, - just little thing -.

Spy sighed: turns out he would have had only one assistant, then. Medic would have probably spent the whole afternoon gawking at Heavy’s biceps bulging through thin fabrics. Judging by his expression, Engie knew that as well: he interiorly braced himself, already contemplating hours watching Spy strutting and pondering several, indistinguishable grey suits.

- …good, then. We are settled -.

Spy moved an elegant step over the escalators, followed by the others. – I just pray the rest of the team will give us some time before starting trouble. Speaking of which … -. He leaned on his left, looking down the hall: - … is that Soldier, crouching behind those plants? -.

- Where? –. Medic turned to look: - oh, ja. There he is -. They watched in silence Soldier peek from the decorative palms, then jump and roll on the floor, then disappear behind an advertisement cardboard.

- he seems to be preparing to ambush someone. Should we try and stop him? –

- Absolutely not. I don’t want to get involved -.

__

- Wot are they looking at? –

- huh? –

- They’re staring at me, mate. I don’t like it –

Demo looked around with red, half-lidded eyes. – I don’t know what yer talking about -.

- Whatever -. Sniper gulped, his throat dry: – told you I don’t like crowded spaces -.

 Demo laid a friendly pat on his teammate’s shoulder: – A’ think you’re getting paranoid, lad. Relax. Look! There’s Soldier. –

He stopped and spoke to a shadow creeping behind a column: – Hey, Solly. What are ye doing, buddy? -

- Shut up and hide -, he whispered, - You’re blowing my cover -.

He pointed a finger in front of him, across the hall: - See that man? That cart he’s pushing is mad suspicious, I’ll tell you that. Who knows how many bombs he has hidden inside it -.

- Solly … - Sniper rubbed his eyes, definetely too faded to deal with that. – Please, leave that janitor alone. He’s just doing his job -.

- I surely think not, private –

- is it because he’s asian? –

- a goddamn communist, here to blow everything apart! –

- Jane… - Demo blinked slowly, reaching within himself to find the energy to prevent his friend from committing a hate crime. Unfortunately, he didn’t find any.

- Whatever -. Demo grabbed Sniper’s arm: – if you want ta ruin that poor man’s day and get kicked out, go ahead. We leave -.

- Where are we goin’? –, muttered Sniper, letting Demo’s grip guide him.

- lets go to Claire’s. I want ta get my focking nutsack pierced -.

- Sounds good -.

Sniper let his gaze get lost into the halls and the strangers pacing in and out the shops. He still wasn’t sure getting that high before entering was a good idea, but at least the overbearing sounds of the place felt a little muffled.

A sudden smell of burning metal reached his nostrils.

- Hell, I knew it –, said Demo in that exact moment. He pointed inside a small shop: a discrete, yet undeniable cloud of smoke came from a machine. Knelt underneath, a paniked Scout and Pyro trying their best to put it out.

 – How is it going? –, laughed Demo.

- Shut up and help us! – shrieked Scout, underneath his breath. – The ice-cream lady coud come back any minute! –

- Oh, you fucked up –, commented Sniper, plainly. Scout replied with a frustrated growl, cramming his baseball hat into the crevices from where the smoke was oozing out.

- it was Pyro’s fault! – he added. Beside him, Pyro stopped helping to erupt in muffled sounds of protest.

- What happened? – asked Demo. He looked quite entertained.

- The hell I know! We wanted ice-cream, but that bitch behind the counter said the machine was broken -. He angrily wiped his nose: – I called bullshit, because I saw moments ago a kid with an ice-cream, so it was clearly a lie… so we waited, the owner went to the toilet, then we tried to get the ice-cream, but the moment Pyro pushed the lever it started smoking and doing weird click sounds and … - he turned again to his colleagues, fear in his eyes, - please, help us make it stop. Can you go find Engie? Quick? -.

Demo and Sniper stood there in silence for a brief second, red-eyed, lazily watching the spirals smoke drew in the air.

- Nah. Have fun, guys -.

- Assholes! – shouted Scout after the two, both leaving as they came. Before he could insult them more, Pyro’s hand grabbed his shoulder. With agitated hums, he was pointing inside the shop: a blondie with an apron had just got out of the restroom and was walking towards the counter.

- Oh, SHIT! -

Both Pyro and Scout scrambled to get up, scuttling out of the shop and then running away, people stopping as to not bump into them.

- Thats it, pal -, huffed Scout at Pyro, – we must split up! Find somewhere to hide! -.

Demo and Sniper saw Scout’s shilouette running in front of them, rapidly slaloming between the locals, then disappear behind a corner.

- At least he’s difficult ta catch –, reasoned Demo.

- Uh! Wait – stopping suddenly, Sniper pointed to a sign: - there’s a McDonalds on the first floor -.

- Oh… - Demo stopped as well, grabbing his stomach.

- I’m bloody starving. Aren’t you? –

- I’m hungry as hell, mate -.

Chapter Text

- Oh, this is nice! –

- Of course it is. Who do you take me for? -.

The four men entered the shop, looking around. Engie winced at the elegant mannequins, popping out of the clothes racks like a lifeless greeting committee.

- Well, that’s disturbing –, he murmured.

Heavy looked worried as well. – I don’t think shop has clothes my size, doktor –, he said, already turning around.

- Nosense! -. Medic stopped him: - Surely they have them! We just have to browse a little –

- This brand offers a custom tailoring service for its clients –, intervened Spy, - you’ll have no problem, I guarantee. Is there anywhere someone we can ask for help? –

- AH!!! - 

Engie jumped once one of the mannequins near them turned on itself.

- Good afternoon –, greeted the retail worker, with little enthusiasm in his voice. He finished adjusting a pile of cardigans, then moved closer to the group.

- Welcome to Cavalleria -, he recited, - the best menswear botique from the old country, home of designer suits of great quality and elegance, and everything a gentleman could … -

- Yeah, yeah, we know –, cut short Spy, stepping forward. – Greetings, monsieur. I’ll need you to show me where you keep your latest collection of pure silk suits. I was looking for both burgundy and graphite coloured, but I will accept a smokey shade if needed. British cut, with ample inside pockets. And I expect you to keep your promises of great quality: last time I bought a tie in your Milan location and the tag was stitched on rather horridly. I hope for a better experience today -.

- We sure hope so, sir –, muttered the guy, monotone. – Anything else we can do for you? –

- Uh yeah, hi -, greeted Medic: - I was hoping I could have assistance with finding some elegant shirts for this big, handsome man -. His voice turned into pure honey saying the last words, holding playfully on Heavy’s arm. Heavy blushed in silence, giving the retail worker his best “I’m-really-uncomfortable-and-I-will-kill-you-if-you-make-this-interaction-worse” look. 

- Sure: we definetely don’t have anything more important to do -, answered the man, his eyes as empty as his soul. – please, get comfortable: I’ll go get my colleague and then fetch those suits for the gentleman right there -.

He turned around and walked towards the register counter: a younger, less dead inside man quickly put his phone away when he saw his supervisor approaching.

- the break’s over, Mike -, he sighed: - I need you to go assist those two homos while they have their sitcom shopping episode –

- Mr. Sweater Vest and Murderous Truck Driver? – asked the boy, peeking over the other’s shoulder.

- Exactly. If we have jackets that could fit that beast of a man, they’re probably in the back. Make sure that he doesn’t rip apart anything while trying it on. Ah, and don’t leave them alone in the dressing room, or you will be the one to scrape dried jizz from the walls before closing –.

- Woah, that’s homophobic – commented the younger man.

His supervisor blinked slowly: - I wish I was, kid. I’ve just done this job for too much time. Now go help those two, I need to get some goddamn suits for that french douchebag that smells like the smokestack that is gonna kill our planet –

- you got it, boss -.

- Mh. Okay. The music in here doesn’t have to be so loud -.

Engie adjusted his butt on the couch near the dressing rooms, trying to get Spy’s attention. - Hey? Is it just me or the music playing in this shop is a little too loud? -

Spy ignored him. – Can I have a Pinot Nero? -, he yelled to no one in particular. He looked really focused, walking all around the clothes racks, already starting to stuff his own dressing room with socks, shirts and various ties.

- Seriously! Can I have a Pinot Nero? Or something that closely resembles it? –, he asked again, - I think I’m being quite reasonable, to be honest! –

- Please don’t smoke inside the shop, sir – asked Mike, rushing in. – Also, we don’t allow beverages near the clothes, especially staining ones -.

Spy stopped in the middle of taking out one of his cigarettes. – No smoking? No wine? –, he exclaimed, stunned: - Mére de Dieu, since when they’re not allowed? And you call this place european? -.

The young man had already sprinted away. He stopped in front of Heavy and Medic.

- Hi, how’s it going? I’m Michael -, he greeted, pulling out his best customer smile. – I’m completely at your service from now on! Ask me … uh, anything… -

The last words came faint from his mouth: Standing in front of them, he finally gave Heavy a long, head-to-toe look. Oh, man, he’s so big, he thought to himself.

- Hey, uh, hi -.

 Getting a light push from Medic, Heavy started to talk.

- I, uh … I wanted a black suit. Something simple. And, um, a bowtie, maybe? I was thinking red? -. He raised an arm to rub the back of his neck. – That is, I mean, if you even have something my size. If you don’t is fine -.

His muscles, fuck, thought Mike, getting flustered: this bald truck driver is ripped. He could break me in half, nice and good. Snap my back like a twig with just one thrust.

- I’m sure you must have something that could fit him, right? – intervened Medic.

(Don't know about clothes, but me for sure)

- Nothing to worry about, sir -.

The young retail guy smiled wider, fidgeting excitedly behind his back: - i’m sure we have some XXXL black suits in the storage room. Maybe they will need some tailor fitting to better hug his … -, his gaze traveled quickly along Heavy’s body, especially his lower half: - … figure -.

- Oh, that’s great – commented Heavy, completely obvious.

- isn’t it? – exclaimed back the other, almost twirling in place. – Can you come with me in the back? So I can better choose the right size without guessing. Your friend can wait for you here, with the other guys –.

- Ok -. Heavy followed Mike. – Bye, Ludwig! We’ll be right back! –

- I’ll wait here on the couch, dear! –, waved back Medic. His encouraging smile slowly faded as he went and sat near Engie.

- Dell, please, I need to ask you: -, he said, frowning: - am I going crazy or was that prepubescent twink looking at my Heavy the way Demo looks at the turpentine flask every Friday evening? –

- Hm, what? –

Engie answered from under a pile of clothes and hangers that had been thrown on his lap. He had the look of a defeated man.

- I mean, - muttered Medic, - usually I’m the one that attracts horny men (and women, and not-gendered humans) like flies, and Heavy is always so cool about it, he always trusts me … -

- Help, I can’t move –, pleaded Engie.

- … but that kid has really pointed him, have you seen it? –, continued Medic: - I don’t want to make a scene, not in front of Misha, but I really need to put that little bitch back in his place. Who does he think he is? –

- Oh God, if they put that song on the speakers one more fucking time … -

With a desperate growl, Engie shook off himself the pile of clothes and stood up.

- I can’t -, he panted. - It hasn’t even been thirty minutes in here and I’m already loosing my mind! I need to get out. Catch a breath or two -.

He marched towards the shop’s entrance: - Tell Spy I went to the bathroom -.

____

- What kind of twisted mind builds circles of Hell like that – mumbled to himself Engie, sneaking as far away as possible from the botique.

His hand reached for the bathroom’s door: he sighed with relief, feeling his body finally decompress. Unfortunately, every single muscle of his tensed up again once his eyes fell on the floor of the toilet stall.

- What the hell are you doing in here? – whimpered Engie.

- Shhh!!! Lock the door, immediately! –.

On the tiled floor sat Soldier, surrounded by various jugs of cleaning products.

- Be quiet or I’ll have to take you out – whispered the man, opening one of the jugs and inspecting it.

 – Listen: I think one of the janitors is actually a bomber under cover. I stalked him for a while, then I saw him hide in here and then, when he came out, he had left behind all these suspicious substances. Now I’m controlling each one of them for good measure. I might find nitroglycerin –.

- And I thought that confiscating all weapons before entering could be enough –, sighed Engie, feeling about to crumble.

 – Please, Soldier: don’t hurt this man. Do something else. Anything else -.

- Oh, I will hurt him, alright! He’s a menace: look at this! –

He twisted the lid off another jug, taking a long, inquisive sniff. - See? This smells funny. It might be flammable -. He took a good swig of the liquid: - Aha! I don’t know what this is, but it sure tastes dangerous! –

- That’s bleach -. Engie hid his face in his hand: – you just drank bleach. It says it on the label –

- Heh!!! That’s what he wants you to believe! -. Soldier laughed triumphantly, then calmed down and looked again at the opened jug. He shrugged, then he poured down his throat another long sip.

- You know what? This is actually good. Wanna try? -.

- Oh, Lord, why me? –, muttered Engie, starting to fold up his sleeves.

- Ok, you little fucker. I don’t know why I bother, but I won’t let you roam around and about with all that bleach in your stomach –

- What are you doing? -. Soldier crawled backwards, seeing Engie coming towards him.

- Come here, boy. I’m not psyched about it either –.

Soldier yelled with anticipation: he tried to jump to the side and run away. Engie promptly grabbed him, caging his neck under his arm.

- The more you struggle, the worse it’s gonna be -.

He dragged his contorting bust towards the toilet.

- Let me go! I’ll kill you! – roared Soldier.

- Open wide –, advised Engie. He quickly stuck two fingers down Soldier’s throat. Solly gagged one, two times. Then he folded over the toilet: bleach and gastric acids started to splash down the drain.

- Yes, good. Good boy -, said Engie tiredly, patting his back: – Get it all out! Don’t hold it in. Good. Good Solly. Man, this is taking me back to my college years! -.

Chapter Text

- Can I get a mcfucking uuuuhh … -

Demo trailed off, his eye lost on the menu board. Beside him, Sniper had been dozing off for a while. The McDonald employee at the cash register glared at both of them, waiting.

- … uuuh, aye, I’ll have two cheeseburgers, chicken nuggets and, uuuhh… one small fries. No, wait! Large fries -. He squinted at the menu: - … and, uh, can I have a beer?  –

- We don’t serve alcohol here, sir –

- No beer?? –

- This is a McDonalds, sir –

- Aye, right. Ma heid’s mince. Then, I’ll, uuh… I’ll have a Sprite –

- Great … -, sighed the employee, typing on the cash register. – And for you, sir? -, she asked to the other.

Sniper kept looking up, mouth slighly open. He didn’t hear.

- The lass is talking to ye, mate -, elbowed him Demo.

Sniper violently gasped, returning to Earth. He was so fucking high.

- Oi, uh, yeah! I, uh, … I’ll have … one CrispyMcbacon, one large fry, with extra mayo …-

- Ach!! –, interrupted Demo, suddenly: - Wait, I want extra mayo as well! I forgot. Two extra mayos! -.

- And … -, continued Sniper, fighting to stay alive, - … I’ll have one black coffee, and, I was thinking, uh, a M&M McFlurry … -

- Wait, do they have that??? – exclaimed Demo, thrilled.

The employee behind the counter looked about to cry.

Trays in hand, they looked around for an empty table.

- Is that Scout? -, pointed Sniper.

The boy sat alone, licking depressingly an ice-cream. He waved at them.

- So you finally got it, uh? –. Demo laid his tray down. – How is it? –

- fucken shit, as always –

- Then give me some –

- Back off! -,  intimidated Scout, pushing away Demo’s face. – Ya have your own food! –

- Come on, just a bite! –

- What kind of unhinged madman bites an ice-cream?!! -.

- Guys, knock it off -, whispered Sniper, visibly distressed: - everyone is looking at us weird -.

Demo scoffed: - still going on with that? Shit, i’m never smoking with you in public again -.

- Wai-wai-wait, what? –

 Scout turned big eyes at both of them: - Have you guys smoked a weed? Without me? –

- Now, don’t look at me like that -, said Sniper at his hurt expression. - I already told you I’m not sharing my stash with you again. Not after that time I had to phisically restrain you from ripping your own face off -.

- That happened only once! I’m more used to it now, I swear! –

- You were tripping hard, mate. I don’t think pot is safe for you –

- Says the man that is currently having paranoid delusions -, observed Demo, calmly.

- Sh-shut op -, growled back Sniper, - You know what? You are the one that is prancing around with that girly-ass skirt. Of course people are staring! -.

- Ex-focking-scuse meh??? -

Demo pounded his Sprite on the table: - Listen to me, lad. This es a kilt. An ancient and proud symbol of one of the most strong and valiant people of all time: the scottish people! it es no bloody girly skirt! It es the cloth of a warrior! -.

- Ok, ok, sorry … - mumbled the aussie.

- I’ll tell you more! – added Demo, angrily pointing a finger: - people are looking at me, alright! They stare because they know what important heritage it represents! They look and they recognize my value as a tough, fearsome scot! In fact -, he smiled proudly, - everytime I wear it public, I always get approached by one or two men that compliment me kilt. They always seem so charmed and interested in knowing more about me. Once, one of them even slipped to me his phone number! Don’t really know why, though. It was kinda out of place, to be honest -.   

Demo took a sip of his drink. Sniper and Scout stared at him in silence.

- Dude -, started Scout, - I hate to break it to ya, but those men were probably hitting on you –

- What the bloody hell are ye talking about? –

- You know …-. Scout gesticulated vaguely: - you must know that, y’know, ... fags sometimes wear kilts. At gay bars and stuff –

- No they don’t! –

- Yeah, they do -, said Sniper. – They must have thought you were one of them. A homosexual, that is -.

Demo froze up. He took another sip from the straw, looking longly into the void.

- Eh. Fair enough -, he decreted at last with a shrug.

- Whadd'ya mean fair enough? -, clamored Scout.

- I said what I said – continued Demo, unbothered. – Now shut up, laddie -.

- Y’know, that’s actually kinda nice … –, said Sniper, smiling to himself. – I mean, at least you get appreciation from strangers and things like that. I wish I was in your place -.

Scout snapped his neck to stare at him.

- I-I mean, …- stammered Sniper, looking away, - … I wish I had that confidence and, and, y’know, that success with people. I’ve always been more of the wallpaper type of guy. For example …-, he faltered and lowered his voice, - … earlier, at the cash register, I tried to catch that pretty sheila’s attention … -

- You did? –

- Yeah. I tried to look at her in the eyes and … I don’t know, kind of smile … crikey, i’m really terrible at this. Anyway, she didn’t look that striked by it. I don’t think she likes me -.

He defiantly covered his face with his hands, blushing hard.

Munching on his ice-cream cone, Scout laid a brotherly arm over his shoulders.

- Yeah, you are terrible –, he said: – but, hey, that doesn’t mean shit! Soldier is also awful at flirting, and now he’s about to become a father! If someone was willing to welcome that nuclear waste of a man into their vagina, why wouldn’t that girl let in you? –

- Oh, Scout, - mumbled Demo, - You have a way with words… -

- Ok, ok. Forget all that -.

Scout rapidly took off Sniper’s glasses and brushed a hand over his hair. Sniper squirmed at the touch, confused.

- There! Much better -. He grabbed Sniper’s shoulder: - Now, you get up: you go to that girl and you tell her that she looks nice. Eh? Then you ask her at what time she finishes her shift, and if she wants to go drink something with you -.

- Wot?? No -. Sniper looked nervously at both his teammates: - Guys, I can’t do this. I’m gonna make a fool out of myself -.

- No you won’t! –, cheered Demo, - You can do it, lad! -.

- You … you say so? -

Feeling his heart palpitations rise, Sniper insecurely got up from the table.

- Are you really sure it’s a good idea? –

- Of course it is! –, retorted Scout, giving him two thumbs up. – Remember: show her that you’re interested. But not too interested, or she will be creeped out of it. Act casual. And don’t slouch like you always do: let her see how tall you are! –

- Why? –

- Uh, um, nevermind. Now go! You can do this! –

- I … I can do this – he repeated to himself. He breathed deeply, trying to fight off the anxiety.

– I can do this -.

The girl at the cash register froze up when she saw the weird man with the striped shirt re-enter her field of vision.

- Hi –, breathed Sniper. He tried to smile, keeping his shoulders as straight as possible.

- I, uh… I wanted to tell you, I really like your braids -.

Awkard silence followed. The McDonald employee blinked, looking at him up and down. She didn’t say anything.

- I … -, continued Sniper, swinging on his feet, - … I was wondering, uh, if you might enjoy some company after you finish working … I could offer you a drink, or two … or, you know, whatever you like -.

Another long pause. Then, the girl wrinkled her eyebrows and absently nodded.

- You know what? I actually have seen you before -, she said calmly.

- Really? -. Sniper was rather surprised.

- Yes! Not that long ago -. She propped herself on her elbow, staring into his eyes. - Earlier, while I was driving to work: I’m pretty sure I saw you stick your penis outside a minivan’s window and piss into the air. I was in the car right behind you –

- Oh -.

Sniper turned his eyes on the floor, hands in his pockets. – Uh, uhm … -

- A lot of it splashed right on my windshield –, she continued: - like an orange wave. My car still smells pretty bad -.

- Right. Well, … -. He tried to look at her again: - … can I, uh… I can help you wash the car, maybe? –

- I just want you to leave my sight, sir –

- Understandable. Have a nice day! -.

- There it is! He’s coming back! – exclaimed Scout. Then he saw the aussie’s expression: - … wait, what happened? –

- Lets get the fuck out of here – he muttered, picking up all the trays.

- Why? What did she say? –

- I don’t wanna talk about it. I’ll never listen to your shit advice again. Now, gimme back my glasses and move! -.

Chapter Text

In the middle of the first floor there was a quite crowded playground: the enclosed space was provided with swings, plastic slides, even a ball pit, and the floor was tiled with puzzle foam carpet. None of those things had probably ever been washed since the ’90. Not that the kids cared: dozens of toddlers and small children ran all around the area, climbing up and down, searching for hazardous stuff to grab and put in their mouth the moment their parents would have turned their eyes away.

Said parents were all sat on benches that surrounded the space: resting, looking at their phones, holding their children’s toys and jackets while enjoying some peace. Some of them knew each other and were exchanging the latest news.

- So -, was saying a tired looking mom to another woman, - he forgot to pick up Isabella from volleyball practice again –.

- He does that often, doesn’t he? - sighed the other mom.

- That’s what i’m saying! I told him: “Jeff, I know the divorce has been hard, it has been for both of us, but if we want to make this distant co-parenting work, you need to put in some effort as well and get your head out of ...” –

- Mama! Mama! –

- Oh, excuse me Alex dear –. The woman turned and smiled to the little girl that was running to her.

- Hi, Billy! You want your water? -. As the kid rummaged into her purse, she turned again to her friend: - I mean, it has been harder than I thought. How is it possible I never noticed before that he isn’t capable of holding any responsability, and, and … oh, what is it, love? -.

The little girl had placed something in her hand. She inspected it: it was a strawberry wrapped candy.

- Oh, um, thank you! -. She faltered, looking at it: - Billy, where did you get this? I didn’t buy it -.

- The Ballpit Guardian gave it to me! –

- Oh! How wonderful, dear -. She smiled and turned again to the other mom, seemingly intending to continue her rant, but then her eyes shot open and her face froze.   

- Wait, Billy! Wait! – . She grabbed the kid’s arm before she could run away.

– What did you say? I can’t see any grown-up there. Who are you talking about? –

- Yes, there is, now let me go! –

- Isabella! Who gave you this candy?? –

- I already told youuu…! -. The little girl yanked away from her mom’s grasp. – They’re the thing with the weird mask, hidden on the bottom of the pool! I gotta go now -.

She raised her little hand, showing to her mom the lighter she was holding. She had got it from her purse.

 – I have to give this to them: they promised me more candy if I did so! They have the biiiigest bag of candy! -.

- No, Billy! Billy! –, screamed her mom, getting up from the bench. - Isabella, come here right now! -.

Her daughter had already sprinted back to the playground.

Near the ballpit, a little kid jumped in. He disappeared into the mount of orbs with a soft rustle.

Underneath the surface, he started to move around. He breathed faintly, as to not get overwhelmed with the stink of sweat and cheap plastic. Finally, he found them: a haunting, dark grey gas mask emerged from the colorful balls. The red light that filtered from above reflected onto the mirrored circles of their eyes, making the presence look more alien.

- Hudd? – whispered the creature.   

The kid assumed a solemn expression, bowing his chin down.

- I salute thee, oh magnificent Ballpit Guardian, oh lover of flames and keeper of sweets –, he greeted. He was young, but he knew how to act respectfully in front of a (new?) local cryptid.

- Hudda huh? – asked Pyro, their gloved hand emerging from the pile of orbs.

- Yeah, I found two into my mommy’s purse -. The boy took out from his pockets two lighters. – This one has unicorns on it -.

- Huhh!! -. Pyro’s mask goggles sparkled ecstaticly.

Without wasting time, Pyro took out a family size bag of candy. The bag had still the anti-theft tag on it. Pyro really didn’t know how shopping and capitalism worked: they had genuinely panicked when, getting out of one supermarket, an alarm had started blasting and adverting all the cashiers.

 They had ran away with the candy bag before anyone could have caught them. Eventually, they had found safety inside the playground’s ball pit. They were quite happy with their hiding spot: so cozy and colorful. And none of the children had snitched on them, not yet at least. All the kids that had surprised them inside the pool had quickly welcomed them as a lovely host and generous seller, even if a little scary. 

- Ooh, green flavoured! – exclaimed the kid, happily pocketing two candies. – Thank you, Ballpit Guardian! Me and the others will get you more! –

- Hudda! – thanked Pyro, waving him goodbye. Humming to themselves, they took a second to admire the unicorn lighter at various angles, before stuffing both into their pink fanny pack: the main pocket was already half full with various colorful lighters, big and small, some clippers, some long kitchen ones. One kid hadn’t found any lighters, so they had fished ten dollars from their dad’s wallet. Pyro didn’t really know what to do with that weird piece of paper, but they had kept it for good measure.

Pyro giggled fondly, shaking their fanny pack to hear it rustle.

That was seconds before a hand shot down to catch them by the neck.

- Aha! –

Plastic balls scattered everywhere. Pyro yelped like a puppy and hid deeper inside the pool, desperately trying to shake off the hand that had grabbed them: its hold was firm and its wrist jingled with several bracelets.

- I got them! – exclaimed Billy’s mom, now grabbing more of Pyro’s hawaian shirt with her other hand. She started trying to pull them out of the pool. And, surprisingly, she was very strong. Pyro tried to oppose her with all their weight, latching with both hands and feet to the bottom.

- Ugh, they’re resisting! – groaned the woman. – Girls, help me! -.

With another explosion of colorful orbs, three pairs of feet landed inside Pyro’s hideout: they were all wearing pretty, expensive-looking shoes and they circled them from every direction, leaving them no escape.

The poor thing could only freak out and curl in a fetal position as six more arms grabbed them and immobilized them.

A blinding light: after a little struggling, the four moms had managed to yank them out of the ballpit.

- Aaaahh!!! What the fuck?! -.

Still confused, Pyro felt their face being slapped with a really heavy shopping bag. Thumpf!

- Stacey, keep calm! -.

 One of the women intervened to move away the mom that, seeing Pyro’s face, had screamed and hit them. To be fair, all of them now looked terrified and on edge: seeing that dusty gas mask pop out from a ballpit was surely something out of a Stephen Kings novel.

 They dropped their hold and Pyro fell spread out on the foam carpet. They still held the massive bag of candy in one hand.

- Who are you? – yelled Billy’s mom, furious.

Pyro yelped again and turned into a ball.

- Get up! – she ordered, - What’s your deal? What are you giving out to the children? -.

Ignoring Pyro’s pleading whimpers, Alex stepped forward and confiscated the candy bag. She frowned her well-drawn eyebrows, taking a handful of candy and inspecting them.

- They’re regular candies, Sarah -, she said, turning to Billy’s mom. - Nothing weird -.

 All the women gave out a sigh of relief.

- What about the lighter? – asked again Sarah, after a brief pause. She loomed on Pyro, angry and intimidating: - Why did my daughter gave you a lighter in exchange of sweets? Where is it now? -.

Pyro trembled and whined under her gaze, trying to make themselves smaller.

- Where is it? –.

Pyro swinged on their feet, tormenting nervously their gloves. In the end, avoiding eye contact, they slowly zipped open their fanny pack for the moms to see.

- Oh, wow -.

 Sarah looked genuinely taken aback. So many lighters.

 – I …, uh -. She akwardly put her hand in, rummaging: - I, uhm, I can’t see mine … -

- That one is mine! –

The fourth mom, whose name was Sheryl, stepped forward and pointed inside the fanny pack: – the one with the unicorns. It’s mine -.

- Mmmph! -. Pyro raised their face, suddenly intrigued ad less scared. They picked up the unicorn lighter and held it out to the woman.

- Mhf hudda humf hudd! – They hummed excitedly.

- Oh! -. Even given the weird situation, Sheryl found herself smiling. - Well, yes, I like unicorns too! Actually, I love them so much I buy everything that has them on it. Oh, look at this! -.

She casually raised a hand under Pyro’s goggles. Her nails were pretty and painted with pastel pink gel: they had put on each finger nail a little, glittery sticker of an unicorn’s head.

- Huuuhhh!!!! -. Pyro melted in awe, squirming with delight. They delicately held Sheryl’s fingers in their gloves, admiring the glitter, humming and huffing praises.

- Oh, well, thank you!! –, giggled Sheryl, - So happy you like them so much! –

- Have you seen mine? –

Suddenly, Alex had raised her hands as well: she proudly showed Pyro her long, dark purple acrylics.

- Huh! – responded Pyro, turning to hers: - Hudd hudda! –.

- Oh yes, they’re my weapons! – laughed the mom, tickling the air with her fingers.

- Every weekend, us girlies meet up here and we go get our nails done at the local salon -, explained Sarah, suddenly friendlier. Weirdly enough, she wasn’t feeling that tense anymore. She hesitated, but then she showed Pyro her tidy french manicure. Stacey still seemed a little spooked, but she extended her rhinestoned fingernails as well.

- Hudda! -. Pyro clapped and jumped at all the beautiful designs.

 Then, they seemed to consider something. They got suddenly quiet as they started to hesitantly slip off their gloves.

- Everything ok? –, asked one mom, suddenly worried, - What’s the… Oh. Oh dear -.

All four women’s hearts clenched at the sudden sight. Pyro calmly showed their hands to them, rotating them upwards and down: their skin was covered with several nasty looking burns. The thick scars wrapped around their palm and fingers, and the skin looked crisp and badly healed.

- Oh dear -, whispered Stacey, covering her mouth, - Oh, poor thing! I mean… sorry. What happened to you? -.

- Huh … -, shrugged Pyro, putting on their gloves again.

- Oh, naturally. Its none of our business, is it? –.

- You, uh… you should put karitè butter on it – advised Alex, - it does miracles with damaged skin -.

- yeah, you, uh… should see a dermatologist -, added Sheryl, - I can get you in contact with a good one -.

While Pyro was still adjusting their gloves, all the women fell into an awkward silence. Moments before, they were all ready to beat the shit out of whatever lurid pervert was grooming their kids with candy… but that guy ended up being what looked like a neurodivergent adult with a rough past. Sure, they were odd as hell. Were they even a man or a woman? Sarah couldn’t really tell. She only knew that she started to feel bad: that off-putting person that they had just attacked was just… really passionated about lighters, and that was probably it.

- So … -, she started, not sure of what to do next. - … I say, …-.

She looked at her friends: - … I say, this was definetely a misunderstanding. Sorry for getting agressive with you. My apologies -.

- Hudd uh! – reassured Pyro, waving his hand.

Sheryl had been standing in silence for a while, biting her lips and fidgeting with her lighter. She exhaled softly and held it out again to Pyro.

- You can keep it, if you want –, she said them, - it’s about time I stop smoking anyway –.

Pyro squealed with gratitude.

- Jerry is here for the kids -, said Alex. – We can leave now and go to the nail salon. Are we ready? -.

The four moms were now standing outside the playground.

- Yes, lets go – said Sarah, absently. She was still looking at Pyro: sat on the brim of the ballpit, they were circled with a bunch of excited children. They were showing them their collection, holding up and passing around their favourites.

Sarah gulped. – Girls, I have a proposition … -

- Oh no, - intervened Stacey, - I think I know what you want to do –.

- It would be very kind of us, don’t you think? – continued Sarah, searching for the response of the other moms.

- I agree! – said Sheryl: - that poor thing has gone through a lot, definetely. And we saw how much they like ours … -.

- Oh, god! – exclaimed Stacey, stepping in the middle: - girls, I understand your compassion, but we can’t go around adopting every poor soul we encounter! We don’t know that guy. What the fuck they even have under that mask? They could easily be a serial killer! -.

- Really? – interruped Sheryl, - name one serial killer that likes unicorns and sparkles –

- Ah, … uhm, …-. After thinking for a while, Stacey groaned with frustration.

 – Alex, please, help me! -.

Clicking her heels on the floor, Alex seemed to evaluate the situation. Then she patted Stacey’s shoulder.

- They can’t be worse than our exes. We got this -.

She turned to all her other friends: - Come on! Lets go ask them if they want to come with us to the salon! -.

Chapter Text

Standing in the dressing room, Heavy stared deeply at his reflection.

- I’m balding more, - he stated, gloomy.

- No, you’re not! – said Medic, occupied with tying a velvety bowtie under his chin.

- Yes, I am -. Heavy pointed to the tip of his head: - right there. Should I start wearing hat all the time, like Dell? –

- Uhm … - Medic pursed his lips. - I don’t think I would really like that, to be honest -.

Once he finished adjusting the bowtie, Medic smiled and moved behind Heavy, patting excitedly his shoulders.

- So? How do you feel, schatz? -.

Heavy scrutinized himself in the mirror, silent. He clumsily turned left and right, tugging at the trousers’ waistband.

- It is … a little ucomfortable, – he admitted.

- Oh, well … -. Medic chuckled as he fixed his collar: - I’m afraid we can’t do much about it, these aren’t tracksuits after all -. His smile faded a little, noticing Heavy’s expression of discomfort. – You don’t have to wear them every day, - he quickly added, - just on special occasions. Do you like it on yourself? –

- I look like really fat penguin, – mumbled Heavy, frowning.

- Oh, stop it now! – Medic hugged him: - it’s not true, you know that! Turn around, look at the way it shapes your … -.

- I’m back! – announced a voice outside the dressing room. – How’s the fit? -.

Medic suppressed an irritated groan, stepping aside.

Mike entered the dressing room, all upright and smiley.

- I found the jacket! – he announced, setting it on the hangers. Then his eyes beamed, fixed on Heavy.

- O-Oh! Beautiful! -. He unceremoniously pushed Medic out of the way, coming to adjust the shirt’s hems with professional hands.

 – It looks really good on you, doesn’t it? How does it feel, sir? -. He had got really close to Heavy’s bulk, casually resting a hand on his hip.

- He said he feels like a penguin, - muttered Medic, arms crossed.

- I didn’t ask you – hissed back the boy.

Heavy didn’t seem to catch all of that. He kept looking at his reflection, awkwardly wiggling his arms.

- The pants are a little long, - he said, almost whiny. – And the sleeves feel too tight. I think that if I tried to raise my arms I would rip them -.

- Heh, yeah… -. Mike grinned to himself, subtly reclining closer. – That might as well happen. Your arms are, I have to say, exceptionally muscular. How much do you lift, sir? -.

Medic clenched his fist so tight that his knuckles cracked.

- He’s not going to rip them! – he exploded, his glasses a little foggy from the sheer warmth of his face. Stepping forward, he pushed the retail worker away with a little too much force. Mike landed in the corner with a soft oof.

- Uh, Doktor? – inquired Heavy, thrown off. – Are you ok? –

- Of course I am! – shrieked Medic, hastily putting himself in between the two.

- … Uh, so, as I was saying, - he continued, with a more dignified tone, - the sleeves will feel less tight if you fold them above your elbow -. Shooting a malevolent side-eye to the boy, he grabbed Heavy’s arm and started to fold up his sleeve: - See? Much better -.

Mike’s lower lip trembled. - Y-you’re doing it wrong! – he exclaimed, jumping forward and grabbing Heavy’s other sleeve.

Heavy gulped. They were pulling on him quite hard.

- You are supposed to do it like this, see? – yelled Mike, yanking Heavy towards him: - that way it’s messy and it’s gonna ruin the seams! -.

- Oh, please! – bickered Medic, pulling as well, - I’ve been wearing shirts longly before you were even concieved. I know how to fold a sleeve –

- Well, I went to fashion school! Also, I’m the one that works here, not yo … -

- Stop! – roared Heavy, - PLEASE! -

He swiftly jerked his arms away. Both Medic and the retail worker ended up on the ground.

- Please, get out, – he asked, - both of you –.

- Wait, but … -

- I don’t like these clothes! – exclaimed Heavy, finally: - They’re itchy, they’re restricting … I don’t like it on me -. He impatiently tugged at the bowtie: - Now, leave me alone so I can change in peace! -.

Medic and Mike quickly exited the dressing room.

- Stay away from my man, you flat-assed twat, – whispered Medic to the boy, baring his theeth.

- Shut up Grandpa, – whispered back Mike, rolling his eyes: - is it even healthy to engage in sexual activity at your age? Let that man have a life. Leave him to me –.

- You should thank this land’s laws that prevent me from harvesting your organs right here, right now, - growled Medic.

- Oooh! Somebody feels threatened! -. Mike grinned at Medic’s furious face: - deep down, even you must know that he might leave you, once he realizes that he can afford better! -

- Ah! -.

Medic gasped, utterly offended. Before he could reply anything, Mike had turned around and walked away. All Medic could do was to stand in the middle of the clothes racks, fuming, thinking about how much the last insinuation actually stung.

- Ludwig –.

- Uh, yes? -.

Behind him, Heavy had exited the dressing room.

- Schatz, I’m sorry you don’t like that suit, - started Medic, – we can find something else, ok? They have other models, I saw… -

- Ludwig, listen to me -.

Medic curved his shoulders: - Wh-… What’s wrong? -.

- Nothing. Just … -. Heavy sighed, rubbing his eyes, - … listen, you made quite a scene, earlier, and I hated it. I don’t know why you got so aggressive with the retail guy, but please, don’t get me involved. I already feel stressed -.

- Oh, … ok, dear -. Medic fidgeted with his hands. - … I’m sorry, I … I got all fussy because, well, he’s so pretentious! “oh, look, you are folding the sleeves wrong” … -

- Mike is doing his job, – interrupted Heavy.

 Medic gulped down his considerations on the matter.

- Yeah, well, … I also wanted to make sure that we get the perfect suit for you, dear! I’m here for that reason, after all, to help you get exactly what you wanted … -

- I never wanted a suit, - blurted out Heavy, looking down.

- What? –

- Yeah, … I only said that because I knew you really wanted me to get one -.

- Oh -.  

Medic fell into silence, feeling a little guilty. Heavy swinged on his feet, looking away.

- Look: it’s fine, yes? – he said to Medic: - earlier, Mike showed me some other shirts that they have, less fancy and more my style. I go look if I like something –

- Ok, - murmured Medic.

- You stay here, sit down, or look something else for yourself. I don’t need your help, ok? I can try on clothes by myself -

 Medic clutched his tie: – Ok, sure. Go on and find something you really like. I still wanna pay for it –

- Thank you, doktor –.

- you still love me, right? –

Heavy had already turned around.

- What? –.

- Uh, … nothing -.

___

Back on the shop’s couch, Engie was positively considering popping one of Spy’s cyanide pills.

How much time had passed since he had returned from the bathroom? Hours? Days?

At that point, he was sure he was starting to hallucinate, either from boredom or from the shop’s playlist that continued to loop. Was he even hearing it? Or was it in his head all along?

God forbid he raised from that couch again. Spy had gone furious about his little bathroom trip.

- I told you, I need an extern eye so I can choose! Tell me: this one or this one? –

Both the jackets looked the same. They all looked the same.

- Eeeh, … the one on the right? –

- Oh, you say so? -. Spy had bitten his lip: - Interesting. I mean, odd choice. I think I prefer this other one without the buttons –

- Then why did you ask me? – had cried out Engie, grabbing his head. – Tell me! What am I doing here?? –

- Shut up, you are part of the process. Now, don’t you dare to move: I have others I need to show you -.

So there he was, trying to survive his own understimulation. He had tried to guess the functioning of the shop’s security system. He had tried to estimate the amount of clothes hangers inside the whole shop. He had rearranged all the shirts on the nearest rack, so that the first number of each tag would spell “help me” in binary code.

Spy had been into the dressing room for a while, now.

- Dell! -.

A muffled calling came from behind the curtain. Engie raised his head, confused.

- Dell, come here! S’il te plaît! –

- What? -. Engie got up: - is something wrong? –

- I need help! –

Engie got inside the dressing room. He saw Spy in nothing but his underwear and socks. Chest, arms and face were bound by an inside-out shirt.

- I’m stuck, – he groaned, stomping around with frustration. He couldn’t see.

- How did you even end up like that? -. Engie let out a good laugh: - have you ever heard of unbuttoning it? –

- Stop laughing! Help me, now -.

- Wait … -. Engie gave a better look at Spy’s rear end: he had seen something.

- What? what are you doing? -. Spy swinged around, nervous. – Dell, if you don’t help me this instant … -

- Is that a tramp stamp??? – exclaimed Engie.

- NO!!! -. Spy smashed his back against the wall: – No! I don’t know what you’re talking about -.

- Yes, it is! -. Engie stepped towards Spy, curious.

- Stay away! –

Despite Spy’s blind fight, he managed to grab him firmly by the hips. – What is it, a flag? – he wondered, turning him around. Spy squealed, kicking uslessly his legs.

- Oh, no! It’s a heart! A heart right above your butt! – laughed Engie, astonished by his discovery: - And, wait, there’s writing! Stop squirming, let me … “la petite pute de Papa” ? What does that mean? –

- It‘s very oooold!!! – cried out Spy, writhing against the wall.

- Please, don’t tell anybody! –

- I have to tell everybody, - said Engie immediately.

- I’m going to kill you! –

- Then I better go now, and leave you here blinded and bound up –

- Uuuuuugh. Fine! -. Spy growled, then flopped his head and arms down, utterly defeated.

- Just help me get the fuck out of here and, … and lets never talk of this again -.

Returned outside the dressing rooms, he found Medic sat on the couch.

- Hey, - he said, rather depressingly.

- Spy has a tattoo above his ass, - informed him Engie.

- I know, - replied Medic, - he always asks me to remove it. I refused -.

- Where is Heavy? -.

- Right there -. Medic sighed, dejected: - Mike has showed him some short sleeved shirts that he likes very much -.

 Right in that moment, Heavy ran closer to them.

- Ludwig, look! -. He smiled, visibly excited. He held a bunch of shirts with graphic, colorful patterns on it.

- Look at this one! – he said, showing Ludwig: - This shirt has hotdogs: it has them drawn all over it! Very funny! Ah, and look at this one: it has white cat that gives middle finger, hahaha! I like this one a lot! -.

He returned browsing between the racks. Near him, Mike shot Medic a smug, triumphant glance.

- Ach! -. Medic slumped bitterly on the couch, munching at his nails.

 - Curse that boy! I can’t believe he was right: those shirts would look really cute on him… -.

Chapter Text

- … No! No, NOO!!! FUUUUUUUCK! -.

Scout slammed his fists on the Street Fighter 2 cabinet screen. He had lost another match.

- Man, fuck yooou!!! – he yelled at his adversary: – Fuck you, fuck your mom, fuck your dad, fuck your grandpa’s ashes, fuck your stupid Minecraft shirt! You stepped on my foot and I got distracted, yeah, that’s why, you piece of shit, you cheated, yeah, you idiot you big smelly piece of dick cheese get out of my sight before I rip the braces off your teeth! YOU HEARD ME! GET LOST!!!! -.

The seven year old boy that had beaten him shuddered, his eyes swelling with tears. He ran away, starting to sob.

- Not cool mate, - observed Sniper, leaning against the cabinet. – Especially after you were the one that challenged him -.

- Shut up –. Scout was still fuming.

- What’s your deal anyway? – He said, turning to him, - You followed me here, but you haven’t even bought any coins! What’s your plan, watch me play at games in silence for the rest of the afternoon? –

- Kinda, yeah … -. He finished slurping his drink and threw it at a nearby bin, centering it.

- Man, this place is old … - he put his hands in his pockets. - I haven’t been in an arcade like this in at least fifteen years, … not planning on seeing if I still got it. I just need something to do until the trip is over. I have to say, watching you loose against toddlers that can barely reach the buttons is quite entertaining -.

- Oh! Ok, pisslord. You want something to do? -.

Scout suddenly grabbed his shirt with both hands. Due to the height difference, Sniper got his glasses poked by his hat’s brim.

- Here’s half of my coins, – snarled Scout: - let’s hit a few games, and the one that collects the least tickets gets the dishes corvée of the other for a week -.

- Hmm -. Sniper rubbed his eyes. - That’s quite ambitious, don’t ya think? You already hate doing the dishes. You really want to double that? –

- That’s because I’m not gonna loose -. Scout showed his theeth: - This round? This was a warming up. I’m going to choose the games, and I’m going to destroy you. The higher are the stakes, the more I give it all! I am … -

- …a force of nature, yeah, yeah, I know -.

- Are you in? -.

Sniper lingered into silence, his expression hard to decipher. Finally, he grabbed the coins from Scout’s palm with a resigned sigh.

- Awesome! Hold tight to your asshole, ‘cause I’m gonna wreeeck iit! -.

Sniper stood before the first game Scout had chosen, blinking with confusion.

- Rambo? Really? –

- What you mean? -. Scout immediately grabbed the gun and got into a focused pose.

- I don’t know, I was hoping for something less work related -. He took place by his side, embracing the gun as well. – Nevermind -.

- You are just complaining because you already know that I’m gonna kick your ass. I’ve played this so many times and you are still stoned as shit -.

The coins clinked inside the machine. The game started.

For once, what Scout had said turned out to be true: the boy clearly was a pro at the game. He bounced in place, underlining every kill with a smug laugh. But then, Sniper finally managed to figure out the controls, and stepped in as well.

- …What??? –

In a matter of seconds, Sniper score had already exceeded his own: the numbers on the screen ran higher and higher everytime Scout glanced. On his side, Sniper stood lazily in place, but his eyes flickered expertedly right on target the moment it appeared, and the hand followed immediately after. Bang! Dead. Bang! Dead.

 Scout sweated under the hat, trying to catch up. He had never seen something like that. It seemed to defy even the game’s response timing.

- … How… Shit! … Argh, how do you do that? –

- Mate. I’m the Sniper, - he answered, simply. (Bang! Dead).

- But this is a game, it’s not the real thing! – protested Scout. His knuckles whithened on the controls as he desperatedly tried to reclaim the victory in the last minutes. Unfortunately, he failed. Sniper won with a significantly higher score.

- FUCKSHITFUCK! -. Scout slammed the gun back on its holder, ripping his hair out.

Sniper put it down as well, calmly. - Yeee, I won, – he hummed, scratching his chin. – What’s next? -.

Scout was still trowing a tantrum. He turned at him while clawing at his own cheeks and mouth.

- Oh, I understand now. –

- Wot? –

- I challenged you at a shooter-based game! – explained Scout: - Now, I’ll choose a game that you suck at. Oh, you’ll be fucked! -.

- Ok -

- I’ll rip your colon in HALF! –

 -… don’t say that -.

- … Something … you … suck at … -.

Scout mumbled to himself, his eyes scanning all around them.

- Mh, … maybe, … yeah! Why not! The Mini Basketball one! Lets go –

Sniper looked at him walk towards the game, astonished. Was he really that dumb?

- Mate, - he called. – Mate! -.

Too late. Scout had already pushed in the coin in and grabbed the first ball. - … You know what? – He started rambling, jumping in place and clenching the ball: - I’m actually very good at basketball. You’ll see. I used to play all the time, back in Boston. I can do some sick jumps. All the hot girls wanted to hang out with me –

- Sure. Are you going to throw it? -

Scout inhaled deeply; he spread his feet apart, he lowered his barycenter, he focused, he threw the ball: it hit the little metal ring and bounced away.

- Woah, - half-smiled Sniper, enchanted.

- SHUT UUUUP!!!!! –. Scout quickly grabbed another ball: - it’s the first one! I didn’t know how much force to put in! -. He threw again, and this time he centered the basket: - Hah!!! See? See what I can do? -. He grabbed the next ball: - Eat …! -. He scored. - … my…! -. He scored again. - … DICK! -.

The last ball fell through the metal ring. Scout cheered and did a little victory dance.

- Oh yeah! Oh yeah! These sweet sweet muscles are unstoppable!! -.

- You do have nice arms …, - admitted Sniper, absently watching Scout kissing his biceps.

- But listen, … -. He stepped forward and pushed his coin in. - … I think you miscalculated your game choice again. Do you, er …, do you remember what I do as a job, right? –

-‘f course: you stay up in your smelly nest, throwing piss jars at people and … -

- Exactly -. He bounced a ball from one hand to the other, looking endearingly at his rival: - have you ever seen me miss a shot? –

- Well, … Oh. Uhm -. Even though blood visibly withdrew from his face, Scout still tried a dismissive laugh: - Well, basketball and jarate are so far apa… -.

Sniper tiredly raised his arm: he didn’t even attempt to throw it properly, using only one hand and making the ball spin mid-air. Still, he scored.

-Ffffffffuck -. Scout hid his face in his baseball hat while Sniper threw all the other balls, centering the ring every time.

Scout tried everything. He tried really hard. Sega Rally Championship? That motherfucker scored more points than him. Same thing at Mario Kart. Tekken 3? He won again. In a last desperate attempt, he even challenged him to Pong and Air Hockey.

- Ya’mate! – exclaimed Sniper after Scout, scrambling with his mallet, had accidentally pushed the disk in his own door. – Goal! That’s what you say, right? Do people say goal? –

- Oh, GooOOOD! What am I doing wrong?? -.

Scout crushed on the table. He pounded his fists on his own head: – How is all this possible?? Are all these games rigged? Am I being pranked? -.

- Uhm … -. Sniper seemed to feel guilty. He slowly circled the table, reaching to pat his back. – Come on, mate, we were just playin’, … we can call off the bet if you wa... –

- DON’T U FUCKING TOUCH ME! –. Sniper quickly stepped back before Scouts left hook could collide with his chin. Scout hit his hip against the table’s corner and growled with pain.

All around them, various kids and teenagers had stopped playing and were now watching the two grown-ups chasing each other around the Air Hockey table, totally enraptured.

- You bloody sore looser! – spit out Sniper, dodging another punch, - calm the fuck down! Christ, this is why I didn’t want to play with you! –

- Youfuckingratbastardcomerighthere! -. Scout still tried to get him, running from one corner to the other. – Come here and face me like a man! Are you scared? Are you scared I’m gonna hurt you, you fucking piece of shit son of a who… -

Then, so suddenly, he stopped. His mouth stayed agape, forgetting to finish speaking. His feet stood still.

- Uh, Scout? –

He had locked eyes with something in the back. Something that, somehow, he hadn’t noticed until that moment. And now, finally, it was revealing its presence, in all its glory.

- Scout? – called again Sniper, genuinely worried: - Crikey, is it a stroke? –

- I’m okay -.

Scout re-composed himself. – Sorry. Was just thinking. Ehm, … -. Carefully, he faked a casual expression: - Snipes? How about… a change. Of the original bet terms -.

- Whatever makes you stop causing a scene -

- Hear me out -. He extended a hand: – one last match: whoever looses this, ultimately gets the dishes for a week -.

- Another? -. Sniper raised his eyes to the ceiling and huffed, but he ended up shaking Scouts hand. - … fine. If it makes you happy -.

- Oh, it does -. Scout finally let a smile curl his lips. – It does. I still get to choose the game. Prepare to receive it where it hurts -.

- Huh? -.

Confused, Sniper followed Scout to the back of the room, in a dark corner hidden by some bigger consoles. When he saw what game Scout was hopping on, he stopped on his tracks, immediately feeling his knees getting unstable. He swallowed the realisation. For the first time since that stupid challenge started, it was his eyes’ turn to widen with terror, looking at the machine that would have signed his undeniable, unreversible demise.

- Oh, no –

- oh yeah! – evil laughed Scout: - Oooh yeaah!!! No turning back now! Lets see how you manage to beat me at …

DANCE

             DANCE

                       REVOLUTION!!! -.

Chapter Text

Sniper watched the arrows’ neon light glimmer on his boots. Scout was choosing the song with the biggest grin on his face.

- ... damnit, …- mumbled Sniper, - I knew I never should’ve let you guys watch that one time Engie tried to teach me the Cotton Eye Joe. How do you even remember it? –

- Who doesn’t remember it? – laughed Scout. He had never looked more upbeat.

 - I hate you, - enunciated Sniper, a low rumble in his throat: - You just couldn’t accept defeat, could you? You had to humiliate me -.

- Yes -. Scout moved his face closer to his, batting his eyelashes: - Tell me: are you afraid, now? How does it feel? How does it feel to know that you’re gonna loose, and spend next week washing everyone’s grimy dishes? Huh? How does it feel that you’re gonna taste each complex flavor of my cock in your mouth, inch by inch, and… -

- Oh my gawd!!! – yelled Sniper, genuinely upset. – Can you use a different metaphor, for once? PLEASE! -.

The arrows beamed, the characters started swinging on the screen: the song started.

“Come on, Mick!”, tried to say Sniper to himself. His own encouragement failed: he wanted nothing more to step off the platform and run away. Whatever regarded his own hand-eye coordination, he was effortlessly good at it. But his legs? They were nothing but usless sticks. Nothing but two strips of jerky, trained only to push his vans pedals and kick Spies in the nuts. He knew that. Scout knew that. He would have never stepped onto the DDR carpet by his own decision.

And Scout? Obviously, the team’s runner was excellent at moving his feet quickly and nimbly, like he wasn’t even burdened by gravity. Moreover, he was also a surprisingly good dancer: Scout himself didn’t show off his talent often, he was kinda self-conscious about it, maybe because he reputed it a girly thing? Probably, it was Scout, he had a lot of unresolved complexes. But yeah, Sniper had seen him, drunk off his balls, ramping the radio volume to the max and trying to show Heavy how to rock and roll. Everyone had been shocked by it: that white boy had some pristine rhythm sense.

- GAH! -.

Sniper stepped on one of the arrows with the same horrified anxiety that his mum displayed while trying to kill a particularly ugly cockroach. Time to wipe the sweat from his forehead and he had unadvertedly missed five other moves. He squeezed the safety bar behind him: ten seconds in, and he was already having Vietnam flashbacks about his high school prom.

Scout laughed at him. He was clearly having the time of his life: swinging forward and back on the platform, hitting all the combos, doing it all so naturally that he even managed to sneak in some piroettes, turning his back to the screen for brief moments.

- … bugger… -. Sniper looked at Scouts moves. He didn’t have enough strenght to be mad at him; nor enough to put in an effort and finish the song with a decent score. His body wasn’t able to pull off all that cardio anyway. He fell behind on the safety bar and settled for squirming poorly on the DDR carpet, panting, praying for that personal hell of his to be over as soon as possible. Eventually, it did: he watched the scores appear on the screen like they were the end credits of his life.

- Oh, what’s that? I WO-O-O-O-O-N!!! -. Scout cheered in his face, doing gross humping motions with his hips.

- Good for you, - exhaled Sniper, hands on his back, - Now, lemme go please -.

- Now? No, the fun has just started! -.

- What? –

- Let’s do one more song! -.

- Mate, - reasoned Sniper, still trying to catch his breath. – You’ve won. I’ll do the dishes. But no more of this, I beg you –

- Well, too bad I make the rules! –

And with that he swinged his hand, laying an enthusiastic, loud slap on Sniper’s ass. Sniper immediately jolted straight, breathless, his expression opening with astonishment and then scrunching with pure, outraged fury.

- Whoops… – apologized Scout. Maybe he had gone too far.

Sniper was still trying to come up with words. He got menacingly closer, pointing a finger towards Scouts nose.

- you … little … wanker …-. His voice had reached husky, sordid depts.

- I’m sorry Snipes! I wont do that again … -. (“Why am I turned on aw shit dont think about it donthinkaboutit donthinkaboutit…”).

Sniper looked ready to choke him. He breathed in, flaring his nostrils, trying to control himself.

– You better be, – he hissed in the end. He looked at Scout. He looked at the screen. He roared with frustration, getting on the arrows again.

- Fuck it. Lets get this over with, so I don’t have to see your shit eating grin for the rest of the day –.

- That’s the spirit! – exclaimed Scout. - Is there a song that you want in particular? –

- I just want to die -.

Another song started, and Sniper felt a little more resolute than before. He had decided that, if he was going to loose, at least he was going to fight until the end. He didn’t need to do a good job: he just wanted to blow some steam off, stomping on the arrows and pretending they were Scout’s face.

- Awrighty!!! -. Scout started tapping around, impeccable as usual. Sniper tried to keep up, giving his all: he tried to follow the patterns, ignoring his own laboured breath … still, he missed a great number of combos. He hadn’t that kind of coordination in him. Focus. He needed to focus.

- Aw, look at you! – taunted Scout: - all red and sweaty! Are you about to have a heart attack? Should I call in Medic? –

- How about you shut up for a second? – panted Sniper. He had lost all his patience.

- Yeah, well, how about you lick my balls and suck on my huge, fat co… -

- OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE! – exploded Sniper, reaching his limit: - If all you ever wanted is me to suck your dick then FINE, lets do it, lets go to the bathroom right now and get busy !! What are we even doing here ??? -.

With a little hindsight, reflected Sniper, yelling it at full volume in a room full of children hadn’t been his best decision of the day. The general silence that followed his statement confirmed him that. For a few seconds, in the arcade room were audible only some indiscrete whispering, suffocated by the DDR lousy song they were playing. Sniper felt the bewildered stare of one or two parents on his nape. He decided to repress it for the moment, keeping his full attention on the screen and the arrows.

But then, from his left, a loud thud came. Sniper turned in time to see a spot of red on the screen, and Scout rolling down on the ground with a hand over his face.

- Crickey! You ok? –

- I’m fine! -.

Scout got quickly on the platform again, doing his best to act like nothing happened. He had broken his upper lip.

- I tripped. No big deal. Shit! Wait, … -. He immediately tried to insert himself in the song’s rhythm again, stepping around, loosing droplets of blood on the arrows. Unfortunately, he seemed to have lost his momentum: his movements lacked the precision that he had showed off before. Also, he kept darting glances at Sniper, even though he tried to not be seen. The blood dripped down his gums and incisors, and it was almost the same color of his cheeks.

- Mate, are you sure you want to … -

- Jeez! – yelled Scout at him, - I’m fine, I told you, lets keep going! Lets… -.

In that moment, one of his ankles twisted weirdly and Scout fell again on the screen. This time, he didn’t get up immediately. He waited a few seconds for the song to be over. For the whole time, he refused to look at Sniper in the eyes.

Sniper looked at the scores, quite surprised. Somehow, he had managed to best Scout, again. This time, only by a few points. He sighed, looking at some droplets of blood that had landed on his shirt.

- That … was weird. You know I … Hey, Scout?? -.

Scout was already storming out of the arcade, pushing away the people that blocked his way.

- Hey, hey! Wait! Where are you going? –

Scout didn’t stop. – Fuck off, – he snarled, waving a middle finger behind his back.

- Scout! – tried to call Sniper, - you know I was kidding, right? It was just a joke! -. (“Was it? Sure. Lets go with that”).

- I said, fuck off! Leave me alone! -.

And with that, Scout exited.

He left Sniper standing in the middle of the room: a little breathless, a little confused. Very much confused.

- So, no head? –

Sniper jumped in place. But then, he recognized the voice.

- Dell? Hi mate -.

- Yall should learn a thing or two about using your inner voices, ya know? -.

A couple of steps from Sniper, Engie was curved onto an old Pacman cabinet. He was really enjoying himself, humming and singing softly while playing level after level.

- Aw! Look at that yellow man go! – he chuckled. – What an hungry little fella! Hey, did you know that I created the blueprint that has inspired many of the earliest arcade games? –

- Did you really? –

- Maybe! –

- Whaddya mean maybe?–

-  I can’t really remember! Have you got any idea of how many patents I have sold over the years? Guns, security systems, A.I. programs, sex robots, refrigerators … ah, too many. -.

- I guess -. After a while, Sniper squinted at him: - Hey, … weren’t you supposed to help Spy with his shopping? -.

- Shhh. Don’t remind me -. Engie lowered his voice: - I kinda escaped, … he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m having fun with the time I’ve left before he notices and … -

- DELL!!! TE VOILÁ, BÂTARD!!! –

- Ah, Goshdarnit!!! -. Engie winced, hiding behind Sniper.

- Are you serious? -. Spy walked towards them, clearly displeased. – I leave five minutes for a nicotine break, and you immediately run away?? Very mature behaviour. You’re coming back to the shop with me, monsieur -.

- Can’t I have a break too?? – cried Engie, still trying to put Sniper between himself and the other. – Please, it has been hours inside there! Don’t make me go back! -.

- We’re going back -. Spy grasped Engie by the collar. In response to that, Engie clinged with both arms to the Pacman cabinet.

- No! –

- I said: we’re going! -.

- Nuh-uh! -.

- Dell!!! –

After a whole minute of struggling, Spy managed to peel Engie off the cabinet. Sniper watched him drag the sad, squirming texan out of the arcade.

- Those … are mercenaries. My coworkers, – he mumbled to himself, trying to make it sound more real.

___ ___ ___

There he was again. The mannequins. The couch. The music. But …

- Where is Medic? – asked Engie. He could see Heavy and the boy, discussing some briefs in a corner. Why wasn’t Medic around, eating his hands out of jealousy?

- I don’t know, - responded Spy. – He was right here until moments ago. Now, stay here and don’t move -.

Engie sighed. He was hoping to have at least some company. He waited for Spy to disappear inside the changing rooms again. Then he stood up.

Medic seemed to be nowhere in the shop. Engie circled the place’s perimeter. Then, behind the counter, he noticed that a door marked “staff only” was slightly open. The light inside was on. Engie stopped: both the two retail workers were around the shop, helping his friends. Who was inside the room? The whole thing felt weird.

Making sure to not be noticed, he slipped inside.

In the back of the room had been installed the electricity controls of the shop. The various cabinets had been opened. Knelt down, Medic was giving his back to the entrance: he seemed to be fumbling around with something, muttering nervously to himself.

- What are you doing? – whispered Engie.

Medic yelped and turned around. He had numerous cables wrapped around his fingers. He looked at Engie with fear and guilt in his eyes.

- Please, don’t call anyone. I’ll put everything in its place – he begged quickly.

- What are you trying to do with those? –

- I … I’m, ah … -. Medic covered his face. He looked at his limit.

- I …, I don’t know! I don’t know, Dell! I tried to do the grown up thing, I tried to stay on the couch and mind my business, but that fucking guy… that fucking boy and his smug smile and the way he looks at Misha, oh, that bastard, I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I …, - he exasperatedly squeezed the cables, - … so I sneaked into this room, and … I guess I was trying to figure out a way to manipulate it, I don’t know, cut the lights off, create some kind of malfunctioning … but that was stupid. I’m not myself right now, I’m going to put everyth…-

- That’s the wrong panel -

- Huh? -.

Calmly, Engie pointed at it: - You are ripping out the wrong cables. It wouldn’t work anyway -.

- It wouldn’t? –

- Yeah, … although, if you want, you could get the system to short circuit… it wouldn’t be that hard. Also, with those crappy fuses, it would be enough to switch those two plugs, it would start to overheat in a matter of seconds, and then… -.

Engie stopped. He seemed to be thinking hard, looking at the electricity panels, rubbing his own hands like they itched. Medic stared at him in silence, holding his breath, waiting.

Finally, Engie broke down.

- Make me space, - he whispered. He got close to Medic and frantically put himself at work, taking out plugs, inserting them elsewhere, pushing down buttons.

 - Yes!!! I knew I could count on you! -. Medic hugged his shoulders, laughing with excitement.

Engie laughed as well, raspy and hysteric. Much like Medic, he had now a manic grin on his lips.

- All those suits … the music, … all of this goddamn place …, - he rambled, - … enough of it. I had enough of it. Let’s shut it down for good! -

-Yes! – cheered Medic, – Fuck them! Fuck all of them! -.

- Yeah! Let’s fucking do it! Let’s burn the whole shop to the ground !!!! -.

Chapter Text

The watch that had been left on the dashboard of the police’s car said 17:34, and 17:34 was the exact time everything went to shit. All of it, in a matter of minutes, for everybody.

At 17:34, in the parking lot outside the mall, two bored looking policemen exited the car and looked around, subtly sniffing the air. One of them was tall and skinny, and the other was short and chubby, because thats how they always are in cartoons. 

 17:34, again: inside the mall, Scout was angrily sitting on a promotional massaging chair, arms crossed and deep into his thoughts. Behind him, an even angrier dad was pacing closer; his crying son was blubbering,  pointing at him.

Still 17:34: at the nail salon. Sat at the estetician’s table, Pyro was getting their long stilettos painted a bright red. Yet, they were patiently staring at Stacey, and holding up the tissue box for her with their free hand: on the chair near them, Stacey grabbed a tissue with a grateful whimper; she blowed her nose, she dried her eyes and kept telling Pyro about her latest therapy session, her voice soft with vulnerability.

In the main hall, a digital watch on the wall beeped: 17:35.

- Sssshite. Two hours ‘till we get back -.

 Sat on a bench near a decorative fountain, Demo yawned and rubbed his nape. – What could we even do while we wait? –

- I dunno, - answered Sniper, sitting beside him.

- Hi lad. What have ye got in the bags? –

- These? -. Sniper absently coiled the plastic handlers around his finger. – They’re, uh … they’re a gift. Hey, have you seen Soldier? Like, anywhere? -.

- I have. About thirty minutes ago -.

- Yeah? –

- Aye. He has bought a bunch of stuff from a store and wore it. He told me something about needing to blend in with the crowd. Also, he said he has found makeshift weapons of some kind. Dunno what that meant. He looked kinda fresh tho -. Demo pointed up: - That store over there -.

Sniper followed with his eyes. It was a Hot Topic.

Both men shared a long sigh, slumping on the bench.

- Do we… do ye have another doobie hidden somewhere, purchance? –

- No, I haven’t. All dry -.

- Aye, no problem. I have a plan B -. Winking at him, Demo reached under his kilt.

- Please don’t pull your cock out, - blurted Sniper, quickly.

- What? Nae!!! -. After some rummaging, he took out a full bottle of liquor. – Ta-da! Emergency scrumpy! -. He took an enthusiastic swig, then he passed it. Sniper slowly grabbed the bottle, confused.

- Hold on … wh… how did you carry it? –

- Better if I tell you later -.

17:40 striked on the second floor: Heavy was waiting at the cash register when he saw Medic run to him.

- Hey! So, you pay then? – started Heavy, before being violently grabbed and dragged towards the shop’s entrance.

- Whoah! Hey! -. He was so confused, plus a little bewildered that Medic was actually managing to pull him forward. He looked really tense.

 – What’s the matter? Why your hands so sweaty? -.

- Wegottagetoutofhere!! – urged the other, – Now!! –

- Ludwig, wha … -

- Faster! -. Engie popped up right next to them and started pushing Heavy as well. – Fellas, I can already see smoke! Quick, before they notice! -

- Notice what? … –

- Where is Spy? – interrupted Medic.

- I can’t find him! – hastily answered Engie.

Both Medic and Engie stopped. Was he still in the dressing rooms?

Medic and Engie looked at each other, conflicted.

- … Eh. Fuck him, – they concluded in unison, before resuming their escape.

Far away from all that, on the first floor, Steve the janitor gazed nervously at his wrist watch: 17:40. It was too early to end his shift; however, he had already abandoned his cleaning cart behind him.

He walked to the end of the corridor. He threw a quick glance behind his back, then he opened a door that said “staff only”.

- Hey, handsome. Snack break? – greeted Julia the mall guard, upon his arrival.

- I need to end my shift now, - informed her Steve.

- Ahahah!! yeah -. Julia sipped her coffee: - like I’m allowed to let you –.

- I’m serious! -. Steve inhaled sharply, then he hunched over his coworker. – Julia! Please, listen: I’m being followed by someone. It has been all afternoon -.

Julia slowly nodded, sardonic. – You think you have a stalker? –

- No! I know I have a stalker. I’ve seen him! -. He moved his hands around, trying to mimic his appearence: - Caucasian. Military guy, like, the most stereotyipical one you can imagine. Very bulky. He arrived this afternoon, he kept staring at me, very aggressively. I went all around the building doing my job, but I’ve always caught him on the corner of my eye –.

- Oh. Racism? –

- Veeeery much racism. I’m genuinely scared. I have a feeling, … - he paused, visibly troubled, trying to find the right words: - … you know, Julia, this guy doesn’t look like a stable one. Mentally, I mean. You should have seen him lurking around, acting weird. Last time I’ve caught a glimpse of him, he had on a Twilight t-shirt. I can swear he didn’t had it before -.

- A man with taste, I see –

- Julia!!! I’m telling you ...-

- Ok, sorry. I’m sorry, Steve -. Julia invited him to take a seat. – Really, I understand. You think a curvylicious woman like me goes unnoticed? I’ve had my fair share of creepy men, I’ll tell you that. Still, I can’t let you out early today: Mr. Williams would make a scene after what came out last briefing. But, hey, you can wait here until the shift’s over! Have a warm coffee, calm down -.

- Hmm …-. For some reason, Steve didn’t looked reassured.

- Come on! You are safe here. And you won’t be alone. Now, I gotta get back to patroling, but Pietro will be right back from his round. He can keep you company for about an hour -.

- That … doesn’t sound so pleasant, - he muttered, slowly sitting down. – You know how I feel about him –.

- I already told you! He’s not an idiot, he just acts like that to avoid responsabilities! You tell me if it isn’t a damn smart tactic … -. Julia stood up and threw away the plastic cup. Right in that moment, the door handle of the room spun slowly. Julia exhaled with weariness, getting ready to continue her shift.

- Hey, Pietro, - she started, - I gotta go, but Steve here has to tell you som … -

- RHAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!! -.

The one who opened the door, of course, wasn’t Pietro.

After a brief scream, Steve saw Julia crash to the ground: she just got punched really hard.

Steve snapped on his feet, taking immediately cover behind the table. He saw with resigned horror the hench, crusty veteran plunge inside the room. He did have a Twilight t-shirt on, tight like a canvas over his torso. He also had numerous stud-decorated bracelets: he had wrapped them around his fists like brass knuckles. Julia’s blood was on them. He also had tucked a black beanie with cat ears over his face, covering his eyes.

After a quick gaze around the room, Soldier’s face turned on Steve. A toothy, crude smile opened on it.

- C’mere …! - he purred, before attacking.

Steve couldn’t help but to scream as well. He knocked over the table and pushed it towards Soldier with all of his strenght.

- Stay away from me!!! – he cried, forcing the other to recoil.

- Stop this sham, goddamn g**k!!! I know you got weapons somewhere! Gimme all you got, I’ll still destroy you! –.

- Oh, fuuuuck! -. Shielded behind the table, Steve looked pleadingly at the ceiling: - Oh, no, no, no, NO! Not like this -. He hastily tried to pick up the phone from his jeans pocket. It fell. Swallowing another curse, he got down to retrieve it. Which turned out to be a bad move.

- AHA!!!-.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Soldier pushed forward with all of his might: Steve got shoved back, landing on his hands. He tried to get up, oppose some resistance; his knuckles got white against the wood.

- Leave me alone! I’ll call the police! –

- They’ll find you dead! Who do you work for, you red sack of shit? –

Steve whimpered: the maniac was strong as hell. He had just moved a step forward, forcing him and the table a few inches back. There was no way he could oppose him.

- Tell me!! – shouted Soldier, pushing again. Steve sneakers squeaked helplessly against the floor.

- Who … do … you … work … for? -.

He succesfully managed to corner him against the wall. Steve gasped, fighting and squirming. He was really about to squash him. And that horrible, filthy-odored man was laughing! He looked so pleased, while squeezing out another gush of air from his lungs. Steve started to see specks of black dance in his vision, and that made him ultimately give up to utter panick.

- Stop! Stop!! – he begged, hoarse and desperate, - I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you anything! -.

Soldier’s face lit up. He stopped pushing, chuckling at Steve’s eager gasps of air.

- You really are a shame to your country, son. Giving up so easily -.

Even if he was terrified, Steve somewhat found the clarity to arch an eyebrow at him.

- So … -. Soldier hunched a few inches closer. - … Who is it? How many of you are in town? What’s your next move? –

- Uhm … -. Steve stammered. He had to come up with something. Something convincing that could make him loose interest. It was so difficult, the man’s foul breath had completely befuddled him. Why it smelled like floor detergent?

- Talk, you commie!!! – shouted Soldier, resuming squashing: - Who is your boss?? –

 - Nnnngh, ok! Stop! -. Steve’s eyes darted around. – I … was enlisted in … by, ehm… my boss is… -. Suddenly, his face lightened up. - … Julia! Yes! –

- Huh? -. Soldier straightened up, perplexed. – Who the fuck is Julia? –

- It’s me, honey! -.

WHAM!

Above Soldier, three of the automatic vending machines violently crashed down. The glass shattered onto his head, hundreds of m&ms scattered on the floor. Soldier groaned, trapped against two of the metal carcasses. He tried to free himself, but two feet stepped on him, pushing him back. Steve’s … and Julia’s.

Apart from the huge, pulsing bruise on her cheekbone, she appeared to be fine. She absently stroked it, looking down to their aggressor.

- Ah, shame. He’s kind of hot -. She curved onto him: - maybe I could take him home, hose him down and get him prescribed some antipsychotics? De-worms, too -.

- Back off woman! I’m married! -.

Clutching his chest, Steve was still trying to fully recover his breath. He swallowed and opened his mouth to say something, but a movement near the door made him jump again.

- Eeeeey! It’s me -. Pietro, a lanky guy with long hair, strolled into the room.

– I’ve got quite a situation downstairs. Three guys arrested! Y’all better come out and see -.

He finally stopped, seeing the mess into the room.

- Eeeeeeey… whadda fuck? -.

Chapter Text

In the main hall, the tall policeman looked at the clock: 17:40. He sighed, tapping the pen on the brim of his block notes.

- What’s your name, boy? -.

The “boy” in question was Scout: he ignored him, arms crossed and visibly pissed off. He looked all disheveled, like he had rolled onto the floor. His upper lip was still swollen.

- I need it, - he continued, patiently.

Scout turned to him like he just noticed he was there.

– What? I already told you! -

- Come on, work with me here, - reasoned the policeman: - we both know it’s not Mike Hawk. I need your real name -.

Scout rolled his eyes. – Fine … it’s Gabe –.

- Thank you –. He wrote it down. - Last name? –

- Itch -.

The officer let out a longer, deeper sigh.

His colleague and him didn’t even have to be patrolling there that afternoon. The call they had received about public marijuana use was from hours earlier. Coming back from another round, they had decided to quickly check the parking lot and, since they were already there, get something to eat.

Of course, once they had stepped inside the main hall, the first thing they saw was Scout getting rekd by three men, with a crowd of excited people (mostly kids, actually) all around.

When they intervened, everyone immediately stepped up and assured that it was the one with the baseball cap that had started everything: he had been the first to get violent with the guy that had confronted him (something about him and the man’ seven year old son? And an arcade?). However, things had escalated and two more witnesses had intervened to help the dad pin that crazy hothead to the ground.

 So, now they actually had some reports to write down. Or rather, he had to write them down, because his partner had been called to assist somewhere else. What was wrong with the mall people that afternoon?

- Now, - intimidated the officer: - either you give me your actual name, right now, or I’ll have to take you to the headquarters and let them look through the files. You want this to be quick too, don’t you?-

Scout shifted his weight from one foot to another. - I do -.

-Good. For the last time… what's your name? -

- Mick Mundy -.

The policeman stared at Scout in silence, unconvinced; but he looked earnest enough, so he eventually wrote it down.

-... ok. So, Mr. Mundy, where is your current residence located? -

Scout grinned lightly, preparing to answer “at your wife's”. 

In that moment, he saw Sniper and Demo walk somberly towards him. They were escorted by the short officer.

- Can you believe I left everything inside the car? - he complained to his colleague: - We need to write off these guys. They were drinking and loitering on the benches -.

- This is bullshit, - mumbled Demo.

- Yeah. Unfortunately, it’s also a crime -.

- Hah! Suckers! - mocked Scout. 

- Excuse me, - intervened the tall officer, - Mr. Mundy, calm down. You’re in trouble just as much -. 

- Wait, … -. Sniper turned to them, puzzled: - How did you call him? -.

- … well, this guy’s name’s Mundy. Right, mister? -

- Yup! -. 

- Wh … no, I’m … ah! -. Sniper caught up with the situation and glared at Scout, outraged. 

- … you know what? I’mma come clean as well -. He stepped up to the officer.

- My name’s Jeremy Jones and, for your interest, back in Boston I’m registered for a couple of armed robberies. You can look it up. I hope it doesn’t add anything to the trouble I’m already in! -.  

- uh …, um, ok -. Even if a little confused, the officer took note. Scout’s lips turned pale.

- Wait, man! - he intervened: - You need to finish questioning me first! -

- … oh? Now you want to talk? -

- You asked me where’s my residence, - continued Scout, undeterred: - well, for your interest , I live near Teufort, in an old, crusty van that I’m sure it's not even up to code! So, how about that? -

Sniper looked suddenly nervous.

- You should come check it! You might find many interesting things, like the secret compartment under the passenger seat! -

- No !!!! -. Sniper put himself in front of Scout. - No need to do that! I can assure you: you can find worse felonies by looking inside my computer's files! -

- Oh! -. Demo chuckled, intrigued: - I want to hear this -. 

- Did you know, - revealed Sniper, especially to Demo, - that, a couple years ago, I posed as a certified gynecologist on the Internet … -

- No!!! That’s a lie ! - erupted Scout. - Officer, I swear he’s lying! -

- Mate, you even printed out some of the pictures! -

- Well, how would you know? Are you also a burglar? -. 

- You showed them to me! You wanted to know why it looked like that and shit … - 

- Ok, Enough! ENOUGH! - roared the tall policeman.

Awkward silence followed. 

 Eventually, the short one cleared his throat. 

- so… you guys know each other? -

Scout and Sniper exchanged a quick glance. 

- Nae! - exclaimed Demo, promptly, - Me and my friend here have never seen this man before -

- Are you sure? - continued the policeman. 

Demo nodded profusely, putting on his best “I’m a good and trustworthy lad” face; which, surprisingly, he could pull off quite well. The unconvinced frown on the officer’s face had almost faded, And Demo was about to add in some other reassurance when, from their back, a loud shout came.

- Demo! Scout! Sniper ! Mission failed, they got me! RUN!! - 

They all turned to look: it was Soldier, of course. His hands were bound with zip ties behind his back; Julia and Pietro were dragging him along. Steve followed them a few steps behind. 

- Oh! Thank god you’re already here! - huffed Julia.

She pushed her prisoner forward: - Please, can you take care of him? He has attacked me and my colleague -

- Yeah! That’s me -. Steve waved faintly over her shoulder: - that guy is violent and clinically insane. He tried to kill me. Please, throw him somewhere he can’t escape. Thanks! -. 

Then, just as they came, they turned their back and walked away. Only Pietro lingered a little more, showing some marks on his forearm. 

- Watch out: he bit me twice -. 

- Uh, … ok -. The tall policeman seemed to lag for a moment. He put away his notebook, he clinged to his shoulder transmitter, then he pulled out the notebook again, while his eyes turned to Soldier, to Demo, to Scout and Sniper,  then again to Soldier, then to the Edward Cullen face on his t-shirt. 

- Ok … ok … -

Luckily, his partner was less overwhelmed. He rapidly put himself in front of Soldier, separating him from the others. 

- Repeat the last thing you said, - he ordered. 

- Huh? –

He gestured to his back: - those guys. Do you know them? -.

Soldier stared blankly at the policeman; then at the others in the back who, by the way their eyes opened wide, were definitely trying to communicate something to him. If only he knew what exactly. 

- Of course I know them! - he answered at last, - they’re on my team! -. 

Demo and Sniper face-palmed.  - No we’re not! - growled Scout. - Officer, he clearly escaped from a mental hospital! -. Nobody listened.

 - What are your and your teammates' names ? -  inquired the other officer. 

- Soldier! Don’t! -

- Thats right! - Soldier pointed to himself: -I’m Soldier -. Then, one by one, he pointed the others: - … and they’re Sniper, Scout and Demoman -

- Demoman? - repeated the tall officer, lifting his face from his block notes.

- Aye, - sighed Demo, - It’s short for Demolition Man -.

Scout gasped, turning to him : - For real? Is that really what it is? -.

- Och , lad… -.

- Wait, - continued the short officer, - Soldier? Sniper? Demolition? What kind of team is that? -.

- Real Estate Agency! - blurted out Sniper, in the exact same moment Scout yelled: - Volleyball! -. Demoman looked already resigned, quietly watching the boat sink. 

The two policemen shared a significant look.

- So ... - The tall one brushed the handcuffs that dangled from his belt. - … Are you guys in some sort of criminal gang? Is this all part of a bigger plan? -

- No ! -. Sniper almost choked up: - I swear we’re not … -.

- Yeah! WE KILL PEOPLE! - interrupted Soldier, smiling wide. 

Soldier was already restrained. In a blink of an eye, handcuffs clicked closed around the wrists of the other three.

- Please, let us explain ourselves better, - tried again Sniper, while the short officer patted him in search of weapons. - This is a big misunderstanding -. 

- Sure it is -. The policeman stood straight and turned him around. - No weapons, though. That’s strange. Did you leave them in your vehicle? -

- Uh, … no … -

- What about you, Demo Man? - inquired the tall one: - you definitely implanted some sort of explosive device in the building -. 

- I didn’t, - muttered Demo, almost tiredly. 

- C’mon. You’re already arrested. You might as well tell me -.

- Ah said I didn’t! I swear ta your foking face that nothing will explode in here! -. 

And that was another unfortunate sentence for him to say.

 Because what they didn’t know, and what the policemen also didn’t know, was that above them, on the second floor, the whole Cavalleria store was now an infernal oven, with unmanageable flames erupting everywhere, dancing on the clothes racks, slithering on the floor. It was so weird, why didn’t the shop’s ceiling hydrants turn on? Only a psychopath would have decided to deactivate them. 

 A wave of boiling air hit everyone within 20 feet; even the furthest people had to acknowledge the big high-fashion burning that was happening. So, as to what is best to happen in a closed space, everyone slipped into panic.

While a screaming crowd started to flood the escalators, swinging shopping bags in the air and occasionally falling over the handrail, while the frenzy started to spread to the first floor and then to the main hall, someone somewhere remembered to push the fire alarm button. 

Demo had just enhanced his words with a sharp glare when a loud alarm echoed in the whole building. Meanwhile, the crowd of panicking people breached outside the escalators and rushed towards the exit, trampling on their way everyone that was still trying to understand what was happening. 

The two policemen were completely distraught, watching all around with their jaws wide open.

Demoman sat criss-crossed on the floor, and decided that he would have kept his bloody mouth shut for the rest of that cursed day. 

Chapter Text

Sheryl turned sharply to her friend:

-Alex! Please stop clicking your heels on the floor! Its unnerving! -.

- Oh! Sorry, girl -. She showed her the screen of her smartphone. – It’s almost 17:45: Jerry and the kids are waiting and I promised him we wouldn’t be late. Still … -. She looked back: - … I won’t be the one interrupting them -.

- Interrupt what? – asked Sarah, joining the group after paying.

Pyro had still one hand under the nail oven. Their other hand was wrapped around Stacey’s, as the woman let out deep sobs into a crumpled tissue.

-I want to be a good mom! – she whimpered: - I want her to know I still love her! -.

- Huh, … - gently corrected Pyro.

- Them!! I meant them! Or whatever… I still don’t understand how, … uff, it doesn’t matter anyway. I just want us to be best friends again … -. She emphatically clenched Pyro’s hand: - I want … them … to talk to me, like we used to! I want them to know I don’t really care about the new name, or the hideous hair colours, hell, I don’t even care that much about the miniature frog pond in the shower! I want her (THEM! Sorry,) ... to know that I still love them! I loved them then and I love them now, and I will love whatever they will decide to become in the future! -.

Stacey blew her nose and defiantly tossed the tissue in a bin.

Pyro rubbed their thumb on her knuckles, looking at her with endearment and comprehension … or, at least, they seemed to, behind their mask.

-Hum… hudda? – they asked, carefully.

Stacey had a moment of silence, interrupted by one last hiccup.

-No, … no, I haven’t. Oh god, you’re right! I haven’t told them all that! I must do it, the moment I get home! -. She jolted straight up, dragging Pyro’s hand with her.

-We must go! – informed Sarah, seeing Stacey and Pyro finally getting up. – Are we done, everyone? Oh? – She quickly refused the money that Pyro was offering her: - it’s ok, baby. You owe us nothing -.

Sheryl opened the door of the salon.

-What the…? -.

The four women and Pyro moved some confused steps outside, uncapable of understand why everyone around them was running away in panic. Some of them screamed, others had tripped and were trying to get up. A whirlpool of people had clogged the escalators.

-This must be that Rapture my yoga instructor is always talking about … - mumbled Sheryl, watching an elderly lady toss her helpless pomeranian right in the pit.

– How are we going to get back to the kids? -.

Not long after the fire alarm turned on, loud and scarily close to them. Pyro fell to the ground, arms wrapped around their head: every sound wave was a stab to their brain.

-Oh no! -. Sarah knelt to assist them. Alex noticed it as well, and immediately straightened her shoulders.

- Girls! – she shouted. – Assume protective formation! -.

Sarah pulled Pyro on their feet, and the four moms locked all arms around them. They directioned themselves in trajectory with the nearest, overflowing escalator.

-Charge! -.

Down in the main hall, the firefighters finally arrived: the two policeman watched them ran upstairs with the hydrants.

- Here they are, - whispered the short one, unimpressed.

- The big boys have finally come to get all the glory, - scoffed the other: – Oooh, is it so hard to fight a lifeless element? Oooh, are you not paid enough? Here, why don’t you get all the ladies too, they love how your uniform makes you look like highlighters … -.

- Ach, I dunnae. Those are some real hunks right there -.

Both policeman turned to Demoman.

- … what? - rumbled one of them.

- I said those firefighters look well built, - continued Demo, eye still on the men in the distance: – all tall and beefy. Right, Soldier? -.

Soldier seemed troubled. – Hmm… sure, I guess. But I wouldn’t have a hard time neutralize all of them in a hand-to-hand. You said once that my muscles are the most impressive; isn’t that right, Demo? Right? -.

- Sure, it is – conceded Demo. – But you guys, … - he continued to the policemen: - you guys, on the other hand, have the physique of professional chess competitors! -.

- Oooooooh …!! -. All the three other prisoners laughed at them.

- I mean, - he added, - You look like I could shuck you out of your saggy skin like chicken wings! -

- Oooooooh …!! -.

- Ah! My turn, my turn! – clamored Scout, excited: - You, er… you guys look like God made you out of toothpicks! -

- Eh… not as funny -.

- Damn it -.

- Ok, enough -. The short policeman was red and trying hard to mantain his composure. – Shut up already -.

- Whatever, … - mumbled Demo, slumping on his elbows: - jealousy won’t make your arses look any fatter -.

- Oooooooh …!! -.

The tall policeman was about to swing a foot right at Demo’s head, but then something distracted him, and he recoiled while uttering a soft “what the fuck”.

The prisoners turned to their right: there was Pyro, running towards them and emitting sounds of joy and relief. Behind them, four beautiful women looked alerted and very confused.

-No! Where are they going? –

- Are those being arrested? -

-What’s happening? -.

Sheryl sprinted quickly and grabbed Pyro by the arm.

– Sweetie, - she explained, - we must get out of here! Those are felons, we can’t talk to them right now! –.

Pyro huffed concitately behind his mask, pointing to the handcuffed group. The four mom’s faces gradually turned to disbelief.

- Huh? -

- Wait … you know them? -

- … teammates? What do you mean? -.

Evidently, Pyro reckoned it wasn’t time for explanations; they opened their arms wide and hugged all four women really tight, lifting them off the ground for a brief moment. Sarah felt a shiver: none of them had realised that their adopted creature was actually tough as steel.

After one last grateful hum, Pyro turned back to the prisoners. The four women could only watch them run to two bewildered policemen, while the detained men bursted into an enthusiastic greeting.

Eventually, slowly, Sarah, Alex, Sheryl and Stacey managed to turn away. They resumed their escape towards the exit, completely in silence.

Only Stacey, after some minutes, dared to grumble between her theeth:

-So… they could’ve been a serial killer, after all -.

-What do we do? – asked the tall policeman to the short one: - Do we believe them? -.

- Oh, please! -. The short one was already clicking the fifth pair of hancuffs: - look at that fucking gas mask! Whoever this weirdo is, I want them immobilized and under my watch now that they still agree to -.

Pyro hadn’t really figured out the rules of the game their friends were playing with those blu dressed men, but they sure hated to be left out. They let the policemen handcuff them, then they plopped down between Scout and Soldier.

-Heeeey firebug – Scout gave them an affectionate nudge with his shoulder: - Where have you been? What did you do with those fine women all afternoon? -.

Pyro excitedly turned his back, doing their best to showcase their handcuffed hands: sharp and ridiculously long red acrylics, with burning flames hand drawn on each tip.

-Did you get a manicure? – roared Soldier, disgusted: - Why would you ever want girly bits of plastic on your hands? -.

Pyro tapped sofly their nails on the floor: Tk tk tk tk tk tk!

-Oh, I see. Excellent addition to your equipment, private! -.